


When The Pain Starts

by Trawler



Series: Growing Pains [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), IronStrange - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Tony Stark/Stephen Strange - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst!Tony, Blowjobs, M/M, Part 2, Pie, Quite A Lot Of Pie Actually, Rimming, Snark, Spanking, Things Getting Smashed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 09:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trawler/pseuds/Trawler
Summary: SEQUEL WHEN THE PAIN STOPS (Part 2 of the Growing Pains series)Five years after the birth of Donna, Tony and Stephen's magically-conceived daughter, life is not domestic bliss. Their sex life is as good as ever - when Stephen's around - but his ever-increasing absences at Kamar-Taj or the Sanctum are driving a wedge of insecurities between them.Tensions come to a head when Wakandan rebels target vibranium buyers, and Tony is injured during the fight. Their relationship becomes further strained when Donna's magic begins to manifest, and a long-absent friend makes a welcome reappearance.In the face of danger, will Tony and Stephen ever be able to fix their problems... or will they end up hurting each other until they break?





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to When The Pain Stops (Part 2 of the Growing Pains series)

“Daddy...”

“Not now, baby girl.” The words came out without any thought as I squinted at the holographic blueprint. My hand flicked – if I moved this part here and souped _this_ one up by thirty per cent...

“Don’t call me that.” Donna’s tone was truculent. I didn’t need to see her face to know she’d be frowning.

“You still here, kiddo?”

“You promised you’d help me with my coding…”

“Oh sh... oot,” I said, catching myself at the last second. “Was that today?”

“You _promised!_ ”

Crap. I _had_ promised. And I’d promised last time, too. What had distracted me then? I couldn’t remember. 

When had I turned into the kind of dad who broke promises to his little girl?

“Didn’t pinkie promise,” I said. I dismissed the holographic blueprint with a wave, finally turning my full attention to my daughter. Her face was just as mulish as I’d feared, her frown making her chin – just as sharp as her Papa’s – appear even sharper. It was funny; when she was happy, she looked like me. But get her mad? She was all Stephen’s. 

“Pinkie promise now!” she demanded.

I hunkered down to her level, holding out my hand, little finger extended. She hooked her tiny finger around mine.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I said.

“That’s Harry Potter.” Her face broke into a smile, then a giggle.

“Is it? Well, I guess you must be right.” I’d started reading the stories to her a couple months ago. Never mind her being hooked – I was, too. The whole craze had kind of passed me by the first time round. “So, I pinkie promise we’ll go work on your coding. Just gimme five minutes here, and I’m all yours.”

“You won’t forget?” She sounded anxious. My heart twisted.

“No way. Pinkie promises make it physically impossible for me to forget.” I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Now scram, OK? I gotta make a call.”

She laughed and ran out of the lab.

~

“Tony, good to hear from you!”

“Hey, Peach. How’s it hanging?” 

“The usual.” Shuri’s sigh was heavy and long-suffering, but nothing to do with the nickname I’d given her when we’d first met. She’s reassured me several times that she found it funny and ironic. Mostly ironic – this was not a girl who needed saving, ever – but funny, I could work with. “Mother is trying to get us married off.”

Neither Shuri nor her brother T’Challa, the King of Wakanda, were in a hurry to get married, though T’Challa didn’t have the luxury of waiting – his country needed an heir. Shuri, on the other hand, could take her time. We’d spent a lot of time talking about it when Donna had been a baby; most of the boys Shuri’s age were intimidated by her intelligence, and she’d come to learn that most older guys felt threatened. It was something I worried about for when Donna was old enough to date... although I was still firmly denying in my head that she would ever date. Maybe I’d just ship her off to a convent or something when she hit fifteen.

“You sweet on anyone?” I asked.

“No.” She sounded mildly annoyed. “I don’t have time for relationships. And who even says ‘sweet on’ anyone these days?”

“People old enough to be your grandpa,” I said. “Alright, almost old enough to be your grandpa. Little piece of advice – you never think you have time for relationships. Then the right person comes along, and you find yourself making time.”

“Like you’re doing with Stephen.” Her tone was challenging, and I realised I’d just dropped myself into a trap.

“Well, you know, he’s busy... I’m busy... we’ve got Donna...” She made a humming noise down the phone. I winced. “And I didn’t call to talk about that. How’s the vibranium shipment coming along?”

“There’s been another delay.” She was trying for a level tone, but I heard the worry in her voice. “There was an incident in the mine. An explosion.”

“You said ‘incident’. Not ‘accident’.” I looked longingly at the holographic projector, knowing it would be so easy to get the blueprints back up. But Donna was waiting. I was damned if I was going to forget her again. 

“T’Challa is investigating.” And that was as close as she’d let herself get to the truth: - since her brother had returned to rule after months of absence following the Decimation, there was a small but growing group of dissidents who didn’t believe Wakanda needed a Royal Family. Security around the vibranium mines was tight, but the Wakandans were versatile and inventive in all aspects of their lives, and that included domestic terrorism. 

“Let me know if I can help,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t. Versatile, inventive – and proud. 

She made a non-committal noise. 

“You’re ready to start testing your new suit, then?” she asked. 

“All the simulations show a ninety nine point nine eight seven per cent success rate,” I replied. “I’m ready to start cooking.”

It had taken months – a couple of years, off and on – but I’d finally found a way to manufacture vibranium nanites. There was no way I wouldn’t use that technology in my Iron Man suit; the strongest, most flexible design yet. And of course I was happy to share what I’d learned with Shuri, considering she’d made all of this possible.

After I’d come back to Earth from my first barn dance with Thanos, I’d lost everything. I’d been gone long enough that I was declared dead. My assets were split between Pepper and the Government, and that included Stark Industries. More importantly, I’d lost Pepper: - we were the Avengers, we were here to protect the Earth, but I hadn’t been there and it hadn’t been protected. We’d lost. Big time. What was the point of a superhero if he couldn’t do his damned job?

So – reeling from losing everything – I’d saddled up with the last of the Avengers and skedaddled back into space. We’d left Thanos’s corpse to rot on the dusty, barren surface of Titan, used the Stones, and undone the Decimation. We were heroes again... but what I’d had with Pepper was well and truly over, along with that chapter of my life. 

I could have challenged Pepper for Stark Industries. Almost certainly would have won it back. But although it had hurt like hell to acknowledge I’d lost the company my father had put his name to, what hurt even more was knowing how quickly the world had screwed us over. How easily victory could turn into vilification. The Avengers and our allies were the only people on Earth – or off it – who could have fought Thanos, and although we’d failed the first time round we’d sure as hell avenged our planet on the do-over. So I’d closed the door on Thanos, Pepper, Stark Industries, and tried my best to move on. 

The PTSD-induced nightmares tried to tell me that I could never move on. I was determined to prove them wrong.

Shuri recognised that I was a homeless talent. Her offer was the most generous, and least binding, I could hope to find; I had my own four story lab-stroke-home in New York, and the freedom to pursue my own projects. No deadlines. The only stipulation was that Wakanda had first dibs on whatever I made. Given that I was out of the weapons business (unless it related to my suit) I was down with that. 

“As soon as we have resolved our issue,” Shuri said, dragging my attention back to her, “we will proceed with your vibranium shipment. You have my word.”

“Never doubted it,” I said. 

“How’s Stephen?” she asked. “And my favourite honorary niece?”

“Pretty sure she’s your only honorary niece. Unless, you know, Felix has had kittens. And then you’d be an _actual_ auntie, so...”

She made a noise low in her throat. “One day T’Challa will call you out for your disrespectful nicknames.”

“Your brother and I are tight. He keeps the other neighbourhood cats away.”

Shuri laughed. “How is Stephen?”

“He’s good,” I said. “I mean I haven’t seen him for like a week, but he was good the last time he stopped by. And Donna, well, I’m gonna go help her with her coding in a minute. Bright little button.”

“‘Stopped by’?” Shuri asked, ignoring the shiny conversational bauble I’d dangled to distract her. “You and Stephen are still living together, yes?”

“Well, it’s always been kinda fluid... I mean he has to spend time at the Sanctum, and Kamar-Taj... oh, will you look at the time? Gotta go, give my love to your mom, slap Felix on the back for me, will ya?”

“Tony –!” 

I ended the call and cut off her frustrated growl. It was getting increasingly hard to defend Stephen’s absences from the home that, contrary to Shuri’s comment, we did actually share. I wasn’t worried that we were falling out of love – every time he _did_ come home proved he still loved me – but his duty had always been real clear to him. He was the Sorcerer Supreme and he had to watch over the whole dimension. By comparison, my role as Iron Man seemed like small fry, though it would take wild horses to drag that admission out of me. 

And I didn’t exactly help matters, either. Tinkering was my occupation, but it was also a hobby, distraction and lifeline, all in one. Row with Stephen? Bring out the blueprints. Save the day? Blueprints. Donna’s report card? Stick it on the fridge, put a whole bunch of gold stars on it, maybe a couple crazy flower stickers...then back to the blueprints.

It was an old pattern of behaviour, using obsession to mask the way I was feeling. I’d done it before. After the Battle of New York, when we’d fought Loki and his Chitauri buddies, I’d suffered massive PTSD, and my way of coping had been to throw myself into work – to the detriment of every part of my life. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t keep Pepper happy.

Looking back on it now, I knew it wasn’t just New York (and every subsequent attempt at self-sacrifice) that had caused my PTSD; it was all the things that had brought me to that point. Getting blown up in Afghanistan; escaping the Ten Rings; finding my feet as Iron Man. Fighting Stane, Whiplash, all those droids. God. So many battles before New York, and then... wow. What I’d thought would be the biggest fight of my life. Boy, had I been wrong there. 

But even then I hadn’t been able to fix myself. I’d just kind of patched up my mental health enough to get through each battle, sinking a little bit more every time. 

Then came Thanos. And defeat. Losing my company, my property, my money. My fiancé. Pepper and the Government had taken everything from me, and after the final battle I’d tried to take my fury out on Stephen: - why had he given up the Time Stone to save me, when my life had turned to shit?

His answer – that my return to Earth had given the remaining Avengers enough hope to start fighting again – had left me feeling even angrier, especially when he’d turned the tables by asking me if I’d do the same in his position. If, after seeing over fourteen million ways we could fail, I’d willingly ruin one guy’s life to bring back half the Universe. We’d helped each other see our respective points of view, but the anger I’d felt, lacking a legitimate outlet, turned inward. 

So that I could stop hating myself, so that I could stop feeling, I’d spent weeks on the voyage home drunk as a skunk. The hangovers had been hell, but after a few hairs of the dog I’d felt numb again. I understood then, as I understood now, the power of obsessive behaviour; for me it was a blinker, a psychological Band-Aid. It covered up your ouchie for a little while… but if you left it on too long, the wounds just festered and went bad.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony helps Donna with her coding, then calls Stephen. They row about when he's coming home; the row continues when he gates back, only winding down when Tony brings Donna's name into the argument.

Donna was in her room, already sitting at her computer. Plenty of people would argue that a five-year-old didn’t need a computer – and a sweet little rig it was, too – but none of them had kids like mine: - Donna was a genius, and whatever she did with her life would be spectacular. I was pretty sure that would include giving me a heart attack when she hit her teens, but hey.

All parents thought their kids were special. But we didn’t just think that; we knew it, because there was – quite literally – no one else like her.

After Stephen and I had come back to Earth, we’d both been a mess. We’d both hit the bottle. A one-night stand, and some magical interference later, and I was pregnant. Donna came along less than a week after that.

Later, we’d learned that she had nanites in her system. They gave her a telepathic link to me and oh, yeah, her _very own iron skin_. My fault, though I couldn’t have done a thing to stop it – the first time I’d gone toe to toe with Thanos, he’d stabbed me with my own blade. The wound had healed but I’d had a tiny pocket of nanites trapped in my body. When I’d fallen pregnant, they’d been absorbed into Donna’s system.

As if that wasn’t bad enough (and I’d totally freaked out over that) she’d inherited some kind of magical ability from Stephen. There wasn’t an awful lot of data on magical inheritance; sorcerers generally had their families _before_ they ended up in Kamar-Taj, trauma and loss putting them on the path to the mystic arts in an attempt to heal their minds and bodies. 

We’d managed to block Donna’s telepathy. As part of my PTSD I’d suffered nightmares – awful, crippling, debilitating nightmares – and after the first time my terror had fed back into her, magnifying, bouncing back into me in a hideous negative loop, I vowed that we had to do something to separate our minds. I wouldn’t subject either one of us to that again. Stephen had basically put up a magical wall between us. So far, so good.

Her nanite skin was harder to get a handle on. We’d realised early on that it was a fear response. Stephen had worked with her since she was old enough to crawl, teaching her baby meditation, simple techniques she could understand that made it easier for her to control her responses. The only drawback I could see so far was that she was pretty much fearless, something I knew I was going to regret sooner rather than later.

The whole magic thing was more nebulous. Stephen seemed sure she had the potential to be even more powerful than him one day. Rather than making me proud, it scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want that kind of life for my little girl, and neither did he, but we had the responsibility to prepare her for whatever life threw her way.

At the moment, we were just sticking with the baby meditation thing. Stephen wasn’t prepared to start teaching her magic just yet and to be honest, I wasn’t ready to see that either... for lots of reasons I hadn’t allowed myself to think too deeply about. So Stephen kept a weather eye on what he called her ‘power levels’ and her ‘unconscious control.’

But right now – right this second – she was just a crazy bright little girl with her Papa’s grey eyes and my cute button nose, looking at me with an exuberant smile on her face. Every time she looked at me like that, I fell in love with her just a little bit more.

~

We worked for an hour before I noticed her flagging. Her typing was a little laboured – her fingers lacked the coordination she’d gain in another couple years – but there was nothing laboured about her brain; she was writing a program to help her catalogue her My Little Pony collection, and really, she didn’t need any help from me. She asked me plenty of questions which she then answered herself, pitching her voice up to turn it into a questioning answer. 

Part of me wanted to be back with my blueprints. Every time that feeling hit, I looked into her face and reminded myself that whatever happened, I’d never turn into my father.

“Come on, Pumpkin,” I said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “Time you took a nap.”

“I don’t need a nap.” She stuck her chin out and boom, I was looking at Stephen 2.0. “And I hate pumpkin pie!”

I tapped her screen. “Well, this mistake here says you need a nap. And this one. And this one –”

“Daddy!” Her bottom lip trembled. 

I gently tugged a lock of her hair. “Take a nap, Key Lime.” I shook my head. “What kind of monster doesn’t like pumpkin pie?”

“ _Rawr._ ” She opened her mouth wide, wiggling her tongue, making claws out of her fingers. “This kind of monster! Can I have a cookie?”

“What do we say?” I looked at her with eyebrows raised, expectant. 

“ _Please_ can I have a cookie?’

“Take a nap and you can have one when you wake up, OK?”

“Thanks, Daddy!” She leaned over and hugged me. I dropped a kiss into her hair, holding her close before she wriggled away and hopped out of her seat.

“Save your work!” I called. She stopped, sighed, then climbed back up into the seat, fingers moving over the keyboard. “And less of the side-eye, young lady. You’re too young to sass your old man like that.”

She giggled. “Papa says you like sass.”

“I think what he meant to say was that I like to sass _him._ ” Amongst other things, none of which I would ever discuss with my daughter, not even when she was an adult with kids of her own. I shied away from _that_ thought. I still struggled sometimes with the idea that I was a parent. Throwing ‘grandparent’ into the mix was more than I could get my head around. 

~

With Donna down for a snooze, I could have gone back to my blueprints. But my earlier conversation with Shuri had left me feeling a little... I don’t know. Not out of sorts exactly, but not myself. Restless, maybe. I just knew that work wasn’t what I needed right now. Gasp.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, call Stephen, will ya?” I asked as I headed back to the lab.

“Establishing a connection now, boss. Would you like to set a duration for Donna’s nap?”

“Let her have an hour. Remind me I told her she could have a cookie.” I heard the soft purr of the phone ringing as I walked along the corridor.

“We’re out of cookies.” The purr gave way to a click as the call was connected, almost hidden by the soft sigh of an automatic door sliding open.

“What d’you mean we’re out of cookies?” I demanded, entering the lab. The door slid shut behind me.

“Tony,” Stephen’s voice said over the line, “how many times have I told you not to talk to F.R.I.D.A.Y when you’re waiting for a call to connect?”

“Any chance you can grab some cookies on your way home? Chocolate chip, oatmeal, I don’t care what kind.”

He sighed. “I’m not sure if I’m coming back tonight.”

I recalled what I’d said to Shuri. About how, when you’d found the right person, you made time for them. What did you do when they didn’t make time for _you?_

“Oh?” I tried to keep my tone casual. “Got your nose stuck in another book?”

“Ancient scroll, actually, and I’m still trying to translate it. My Akkadian’s not up to par.”

“Ak-what-now?”

“The spoken form of a written language. Cuneiform. Babylonian.”

“Think you lost me there, big guy…”

“Ancient pointy writing,” he sighed.

“Oh. Hey. Cool.” I didn’t get a kick out of that kind of thing; so sue me.

“I think I might have discovered a way to repair the Cloak.” 

The Cloak of Levitation was a magical relic, an ancient, sentient piece of clothing that had given Stephen the power of flight. It had been destroyed, ripped to pieces, when… actually, I didn’t like to think too much about that time. I came back to it too often in my nightmares. Stephen had spent the last five years trying to fix it. We were beginning to think it wasn’t possible. 

“For real?” I came to a stop in the middle of the lab.

“Now you’re paying attention,” he laughed. 

“Always was,” I defended. “Pointy writing, Cloak, you’re not coming home. I get it.” I swallowed, suddenly glad I hadn’t chosen to make a video call. I wasn’t sure what my face was putting off right now, but I was convinced it was something I didn’t want him to see. 

“I could bring the scroll with me,” he said cautiously. “I mean I need to bring an Akkadian primer as well, and a couple tomes on regional dialectical variations, but –”

“It’s OK,” I interrupted. “Don’t worry about it. You’re busy.” 

“It’s no problem –”

“I said it’s OK,” I snapped. If it was no problem, he’d have been home a week ago. “I’m fine, Donna’s fine, thanks so much for asking. F.R.I.D.A.Y, end call.”

“ _Ton –_ ” The line went dead.

I kicked the nearest chair. It skittered across the metal floor, wheels rattling, and bounced off the wall. My toes hurt.

“Stupid goddamned sneakers,” I muttered.

An orange-ringed interdimensional gate opened just inside my line of sight. I turned at the flash of colour; then, realising who it was, turned away.

“Stupid goddamned instant travel,” I growled. That was adding insult to injury.

“I thought we’d trained you out of hanging up the phone,” Stephen barked as he stepped through the gate. It closed behind him, a silent splash of sparks the only sign that it had ever existed.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when the conversation’s over?” I said, deliberately walking over to my workstation. With my back turned, I didn’t have to look at him.

“We weren’t done.” His voice had hardened. 

“It was as far as I was concerned.”

His silence was frosty. I’d hurt him. Well, I was hurt, too. His research was clearly more important to him than his family. Never mind _me_ turning into my dad – Stephen already had that one covered. 

“Why did you call me, Tony?”

I’d never admit that I was analysing the way he spoke, listening to the way his tones changed, trying to work out what he wasn’t saying as much as hearing what he was. I’d done that ever since the long voyage back to Earth and I hadn’t been able to stop. I knew he loved me, but my own insecurities were a monster I doubted I’d ever have the courage to fight. 

Right now he sounded on edge. He was uncertain, anxious, hiding it under a thin veneer of hostility. It was a tone I recognised too well because I’d used it so often myself.

“What, I can’t just ask you to pick up a box of cookies on the way home?” I quizzed. “Oh wait, that would actually require you to _come_ home!”

“It may have escaped your attention, but I’m here now.”

“You’re here because I hung up and you can’t stand not having the last word,” I exclaimed. I knew it was true, because that was how I felt, too. In so many ways – too many ways, maybe – we were cut from the same cloth. 

“Fine,” he growled. “I thought you wanted me here, but you know what? Screw it. I’m going back to Kamar-Taj. At least the books don’t act like a spoiled brat!”

“Spoiled brat!” Finally I turned to face him, anger making the blood pulse behind my eyes. “Acting like that would require that you spoil me first, but you’re never here long enough!” 

My first clear sight of him – after days without him – was enough to stop the breath in my throat. Tall. Lean. Thick, dark hair, grey bands sweeping out from his temples. Royal blue tunic and pants, heavy black boots, and the Cloak of Levitation’s replacement, the Coat of Possibilities, a relic that… well, I still didn’t really know what it did. It gave him the power of flight. A whole bunch of weird and wonderful things came out of its pockets.

“Grow up.” His voice lashed out and broke the spell. I wrenched my eyes away, but not before I’d seen the grey fire flashing in his own. I shivered; even angry, he looked fucking hot, and I’d never get over the way he could turn me on with a single look. It was one of the reasons I’d turned my back on him: - self-preservation. 

“Nope, nope, I’m just gonna stay here and carry on acting like a kid,” I said. “With Donna. Who is a _real_ child, in case you’d forgotten her existence!”

He flinched, pain softening his eyes, making me hate myself. Why the fuck did we keep doing this to ourselves? 

Because we were too much alike, that was why. We tore, bit, and scratched at each other, and sometimes we couldn’t stop. Both of us used sarcasm as a weapon and our blades were finely-honed. 

“Where is she?” he asked, the anger leaching from his voice. “Is she OK?”

“She’s napping.” I took a slow breath, trying to calm down. I didn’t want to fight with him. I didn’t want to drive him away. I _wanted_ him to stay, so I had to stop being an asshole. “We uh, we worked on some coding. She’s writing a program to catalogue her toys.”

“She’s started that now?” His eyebrows lifted, showing his surprise.

“Yeah. You’d know that. If you’d been around more.” Aaaand there I went again. 

“Do _you_ need a nap?” he drawled.

I was so startled by his sudden, unexpected humour that I laughed before I could stop myself. It helped – the last of my anger dissipated, and I knew I could be Grown-Up Tony again.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you told me once I get cranky when I’m tired. You weren’t wrong.” I hesitated. “Sorry for being a dick.”

The warmth flooding through his eyes was almost enough to floor me. He closed the distance between us, reaching for me, and I twined my arms around his neck.

“Missed you,” I breathed, right before his lips came down on mine.

His kiss was gentle, his tongue sliding alongside mine, and over before I had a chance to deepen it. But when he drew his head back the look in his eyes told me this wasn’t going to end there. Five years together and we were still as hot for each other as we’d ever been. 

“Missed you too.” His mouth quivered for a moment, an unguarded emotion crossing his face. There and gone in a second. Whatever he’d been about to say, he’d changed his mind. “Let’s say we make the most of Donna being asleep, OK?”

“I’m down with that.” I took his hand and led him toward the door. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, let me know when the kid wakes up, OK? Oh – and no peeking, only pervert A.Is do that.”

“That was one time,” F.R.I.D.A.Y said. “Are you ever going to let me forget that, boss?”

“Uh, hello? You’re a machine. You never forget anything.”


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Stephen make the most of their private time, then discuss the possibility of fixing the Cloak of Levitation.  
> Stephen returns to Kamar-Taj.

When Donna had still been a baby, we’d been less careful where we had sex. There was a time when we would just have done the nasty anywhere we happened to be at home – the kitchen table (a personal favourite of mine, I had a thing for letting Stephen bend me over tables and desks), the couch, my lab. I had special memories of his office at the Sanctum. But since she’d started walking, we’d quickly learned to keep it to the bedroom. And added a little sound-proofing, since neither of us had learned to be goddamned quiet.

Stephen waited until the door had closed behind us before gently tugging me close against his hard body. His kiss was soft and coaxing: - parting my lips, searching for my tongue. Letting his glide against mine. We stood like that for… God, I lost track of time, each kiss slow and languid. I’d had a hard-on since he’d kissed me in the lab and it felt good just to grind against him now, the gentle friction stoking my flames and his.

He led me to the bed. We took our time undressing. Well, _Stephen_ took his time – I was out of my T-shirt, jeans, and underpants in about five seconds flat, and then I had to stand there, lightly fisting my dick, while Stephen took off half the contents of the thrift store. Coat, boots, socks, belt, second belt, third belt, _fourth_ belt, tunic, under-tunic, tank top, pants, boxers… _finally_ he was naked.

“Socks,” he drawled, looking pointedly at my feet.

“My _God,_ ” I said, tugging them off, tossing them aside. Leaving my socks on during sex was one of his bugbears. If some of our clothes came off, they all had to come off. “A guy could die of old age waiting for you to get naked!”

“It’s called ‘patience’,” he said, tugging me with him onto the bed. His arms circled me as I snuggled close.

“Hard to find when Donna could wake up at any moment,” I grumbled, seeking and finding his lips again for a slow, deep kiss. 

“Less talking.” He trailed kisses along the side of my jaw, down the column of my neck. “More kissing.” His tongue flicked over my throat before his lips formed a seal. He sucked my skin into his mouth, hard and quick, before releasing it.

“Trying to give me a hickie?” I gasped.

“Something like that.” His voice had thickened, deepened. “Maybe I just like seeing my mark on your skin.”

A thrill of excitement ran through me, but it was tempered by a throb of resentment. By marking me, was he reminding himself of what he had? Or warning other people away?

His lips moved lower, over my collarbone, my pecs, and the resentment burned away in the rising fire of my lust. I threaded my fingers through his thick, dark hair. I’d always loved those grey streaks at the side and back. They’d spread a little over the last couple years into a thick band that I loved even more, the rest of his hair lightly flecked with grey.

He eased me onto my back and settled over me, peppering my abs with kisses. His teeth grazed over my hipbone and I twitched. Until I’d met him, I’d had no idea it could be an erogenous zone, but Christ, he knew how to work every inch of me. When I reached for my aching cock he pushed my hand away, replacing it with his own. I drew a sharp breath, holding it, letting it out on a groan. He moved up again, stroking me, capturing my mouth. I splayed my hands over his back. I felt the ripple of lean muscle, the faint ridges of old scars. 

“I want you on top,” he growled into my ear, burying his face against my neck. “I want to see your face when you come.”

“Like I’m gonna argue with that,” I panted.

“You argue with everyone and everything.” He rolled over onto his back, propping himself against the headboard, arms folded behind his head.

“Well shucks,” I said, stretching to the nearest bedside table for the lube. “If I argue against that I’m proving you right. If I don’t argue, I’m proving you right. Your logic sucks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are we talking here, or fucking?”

“You’re a real romantic.”

“I’m sorry.” The spark in his eyes told me he really wasn’t. “Shall I tell you how much I need to make love to you?” He moved forward, shifting onto his knees, plucking the bottle from my hands. “Shall I tell you how good it feels to touch you?” He squeezed lube onto his fingers. “Or just how goddamn powerful you make me feel when you come?”

His declaration sent ripples of emotion through me. I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him, pushing my face into his neck. Breathing his scent. If I could just hold onto him like this he’d never leave.

His free hand trailed down my back, cupping my ass, exploring. His lips traced a path along my chin even as his lube-covered fingers gently slicked over my hole. I twitched. When he pushed one long finger inside me, I pushed back against it. God. I loved this. I loved _him._

He took his sweet time preparing me, adding another finger, occasionally letting them rub over my prostate. Each time I bucked against him. Finally I pushed his hand away, letting him know with a touch that I was ready.

He settled himself back on the bed. I took a moment to study him, to burn this memory alongside all the others in my head. He was a work of art; pale skin, marked with old, silvery scars; beautiful pink nipples, hard and delicious; a dusting of dark hairs pointing the way to his cock. As I watched, he slathered more lube along his length.

I straddled him again, lining his cock up with my hole, slowly lowering myself down. I welcomed the sharp sting. Welcomed him inside me. 

“God,” Stephen choked, fingers digging into my hips. His eyes rolled back. I braced my hands against his ribcage, feeling the hectic rise and fall of his chest. For all his control, he was further gone than he’d admit. That was OK. I felt the same. 

I set up a slow, undulating rhythm, teasing myself as much as him. His eyes locked with mine. He urged me on, hips thrusting, driving his cock deep. I couldn’t keep the slow pace and I didn’t want to. We were racing.

“Touch yourself,” he growled. I was pretty sure his gripping fingers were going to leave bruises on my flesh, or at the very least red marks. I didn’t care. I wanted them. 

“Like this?” I curled my fingers around my dick, shuddering, knowing I was close. Knowing we were both close.

“Yes!” The word was pushed out between his clenched teeth. 

I jacked myself with rough, quick movements. That was all it took – my orgasm was intense, making my legs shake, tensing the big muscles in my thighs, arching my back so that I could drive down harder on his cock. I shot over his chest, his stomach, my hand, groaning, trying to watch his face. Trying to keep my eyes open.

His response was to fuck me with almost animal intensity, each stroke pounding into me, dragging over my-now sensitive prostate again and again. I couldn’t stop trembling, could barely control the sounds I was making; even though I’d stopped shooting I was still coming, the stimulation on the edge of becoming too much to handle.

Stephen’s whole body stiffened, the muscles and tendons on his forearms standing out in clear contrast to his flesh. He threw his head back. I slumped against his chest, exhausted, loving the way he groaned into my ear and held me close. His shaking rivalled my own. I kissed his neck, his cheek, his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered, over and over again. “I love you.”

~

After a quick clean-up – with sweat cooling on my skin, and Stephen half-dozing next to me – my idling mind returned to what he’d said about the Cloak. I didn’t like to think about what had happened, the pain and stress of what we’d all gone through, but I couldn’t avoid it forever.

Relics like the Cloak had enough sentience to choose their sorcerers, and it had chosen Stephen. When Donna came along, it had picked her. That was our first indication that she had magical abilities. The second indication... well. 

Part of Stephen’s job as Sorcerer Supreme meant protecting Earth from extra-dimensional threats. After Thanos had dusted him in the Snap, an other-worldly asshole called the Nameless One had taken advantage of his absence. The chump was a Voldemort-style bad guy, complete with two faces and an over-inflated sense of his own worth; we’d taken the fight to his own dimension and brought him down. 

Then his corpse had exploded, showering Peter Parker – my mostly-almost-kinda son – in supernatural gunk.

Turned out the gunk was the Nameless One’s soul. He’d possessed Peter, turned him from a happy-go-lucky Labrador into a moody, sullen teenager who kidnapped his baby sister for kicks. Donna was so saturated with magic, Voldemort II had wanted to drain her dry. 

The Cloak of Levitation (Donna’s unofficial guardian) had been caught in the crossfire. Peter had ripped it to pieces. 

We’d got Donna back and kicked the Nameless One’s soul out of his stolen ride. Stephen had reassured us that this time he was really, truly dead, and I sure hoped so, because five years later Petey was still trying to get over what had happened to him.

He hid his trauma well – better than I’d ever hid mine – but it was there, if you knew what to look for. If you’d seen it over and over again in your own eyes. That fear, deep down, that one day someone might invade his mind again. He’d fought the Nameless One’s control as long as he could and I was proud of him for that. That didn’t stop him drowning in his own guilt. I knew how that felt, too.

Petey (almost seventeen at the time) had struggled to move on. His grades suffered. He’d pushed his friends away, until his girlfriend MJ – one of the most sensible women I’d had the privilege to meet – had talked to him, helped put things into perspective. I never knew exactly what they’d talked about, but it had helped more than anything I’d ever said to him. 

Petey was almost twenty-two now. I’d put him through college and he’d found a job with a newspaper. Despite his secret career as Spider-Man, the kid had his feet on the ground, and I was kinda waiting for the day he proposed to MJ… if she lived that long. Couple months ago, some ass-hat terrorist had figured out Petey’s identity and hit him where it hurt the most, his girlfriend. He’d had a choice – get the girl or rescue the hostages.

He’d thought he could do both. MJ had lived. Not all the hostages had. I knew the guilt he felt over that was still sitting inside him. It was a wound that would probably never heal, a mistake he could never recover from. But I hoped, for his sake, that he could.

“What are you thinking about?” Stephen murmured, grabbing my attention as his fingers played over my shoulder and along my arm. The scars on his fingers were still rough, the ridges shrunken but still present. He bent to kiss the tiny fingertip-shaped bruises forming on my hips.

“You really think you can fix the Cloak?” I asked, pulling my attention back to him. He hadn’t been here when MJ had been kidnapped. Kamar-Taj, Timbuktu – hell, he could have been on the moon for all he opened up to me. I guess he knew about what had happened (he read the newspapers, old-school style) but we hadn’t talked about it. Mostly what we’d done was snipe at each other about his absences. 

“I think it’s a possibility,” he replied. I wondered if he had any idea of what was really going through my mind right now. Sometimes he surprised me. “Though I think its best we keep it to ourselves unless – or until – we have some success.”

So he _did_ have some sense of the track my thought-train had taken. I guess I wasn’t that complicated to read; all he really had to do was keep his crayon marks in the lines. 

Pete and I weren’t related by blood, but he’d always be my kid. And I’d always worry about him. Donna pretty much worshipped the ground he walked on; according to her, he was the bestest big brother she’d ever have, and who was gonna argue with an accolade like that?

“Sure,” I said. “No one likes spoilers.”

“Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y interrupted, “your daughter is awake... and asking about cookies.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Let me find my pants. She’s not the only one who needs a little sugar.”

“Got ya sugar right here, Papa Bear.” I grabbed my crotch. I was half-hard again, even just the possibility of round two enough to get me going again. 

“Call me that again and you’re getting nothing but a cold shower.” He leaned over, gave me a swift kiss on the lips that was over too soon, and started looking for his clothes.

~

“Papa!”

Donna’s excited squeal was high enough for dolphins to understand. I winced. Stephen had gated to the store a couple blocks down to get our cookies; I’d dressed and waited for him in the living area, where Donna found us now.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He swung her up into his arms. She slung her legs around his waist and hugged him without reservation. My heart – already a gooey mess whenever I saw them together – melted just a little bit more.

“You’ve been gone forever!”

She didn’t see the way his face tightened. But I did. A vindictive little thrill ran through me; I _wanted_ him to feel guilty for not being here. I _wanted_ it to hurt.

I gave myself a mental slap, shocked at my own selfishness. Of _course_ I didn’t want him to feel guilty about doing his job! What kind of an asshole was I? 

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her cheek. “It certainly does feel like forever.”

“Are you staying tonight?”

Her voice – soft, uncertain – made me tear up, and I had to look away, rubbing my fingers in my eyes. When I looked back Stephen’s eyes were suspiciously damp, the light making the grey shine, and I knew he wasn’t immune either. That was some consolation. Not much.

“Of course I am.” 

Donna didn’t notice his hesitation, content to snuggle against him. I scowled. That _prick!_ He’d only came back because I hung up the phone. Then he fucked me six ways to Sunday, made me think we were a normal family again, and for what? So he could flounce back to his books after our kid went to bed? Screw _that._ Donna was due a little Papa-daughter bonding time. 

“Save me a cookie,” I said, turning away. “I gotta go finish some work.”

“Tony –” 

“Make sure the little sprat cleans her teeth before you put her to bed,” I said, refusing to give in to the urge to look back. “We’re kind of in the middle of Harry Potter at the moment, so read her a chapter of that, will ya?”

“Daddy?”

I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t listen to her disappointment, couldn’t hear Stephen’s stupid voice a second longer. He’d once accused me of running away from problems and I guess I was still doing that. But what the hell was I supposed to do when _he_ was the problem?

~

I threw myself back into the blueprints. It was gone midnight before I made myself take a break, but I was still too wired for sleep. 

Stephen hadn’t come to yell at me. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Part of me wanted him to fight me – to fight _for_ me – so we had another chance to shout at each other. I’d apologise, or he would, and we’d have sex that made my toes curl. Then we’d be good again... for a little while. 

Even though I was coming to understand that it was nothing more than a beautiful illusion, I still wanted it. 

Another part of me – a larger, louder, angrier part – was glad he hadn’t dared show his fucking nose in my lab before he went back to Kamar-Taj, or the Sanctum, or wherever the hell he laid his head when it wasn’t next to mine. 

I looked in on Donna. She’d never needed a nightlight, but we left the hall light on in case she needed the bathroom. I opened her bedroom door an inch or so more than it already was. A pale yellow shaft of illumination streamed across her face and she shifted, turning away, dragging the blanket over her head. I stood and watched her for a couple minutes, even though she was buried head to toe beneath her My Little Pony blanket.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” I whispered, and went back to work.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna tells Tony how she dealt with a bully. Shuri gives Tony information on the terrorists, which he shares with Stephen; the news scares him enough to make him come home.  
> Over dinner, the family decide to adopt a local stray cat.

Stephen didn’t show the next day. By the time breakfast was over and I’d got my jumping tadpole to kindergarten, I was back to missing him all over again. Asshole.

And the worst thing? Donna asked me, over her waffles and milk, when Papa was coming back. I fudged an answer. She saw right through it. Her disappointment almost crushed me. 

This was stupid. I should just apologise – _again_ – promise to stop being a douche about his absences, and we’d be happy. 

But I already knew it wasn’t going to be that easy to fix, or we’d have done it by now. His job was more important than his family. Why should _I_ always be the one apologising? How was this my fault?

One alarm I never missed – mostly because F.R.I.D.A.Y never let me – was the one that told me to pick Donna up from kindergarten. She was too bright for ordinary lessons (even in the gifted program we’d paid extra for) and she got most of her educational kicks from the tailored exercises we gave her at home, but neither of us had wanted her to be home-schooled. It was important she learned how to make friends... and deal with people who didn’t want to be friends.

“Watcha got there, Apple?” I asked as she ran up to me. I was standing with a gaggle of other parents. I say parents – what I actually meant was nannies, _au pairs_ and body guards. Most rich people I knew outsourced their parenting. I’d been on the receiving end of that kind of treatment and I’d hated it.

“Don’t call me Apple.” Her scowl was just like Stephen’s and it made my heart twist.

“Hey, everyone likes apple pie.”

“It’s too common. I’m special.”

“And so modest too,” I laughed, sweeping her up into my arms. She was getting a little big to cuddle this way, but I’d treasure every second for as long as it lasted. She was going to be a tall girl.

“We did painting today,” she giggled, holding up a piece of brightly coloured paper. “Melissa Baumgarden tried to put paint in my hair.”

“Did she, now?” I flicked a look at her hair – blessedly paint free – then studied her painting. Two vaguely male-looking stick figures standing on either side of a little girl with huge brown hair. My heart twisted again. “This is amazing, baby girl. Totally going on the fridge. What did you do about Melissa Baumgarden?”

“I was going to punch her in the face.” The way she said it, so matter of fact, almost made me laugh. “Then I remembered you said we should only fight bad guys, and she’s not really a bad guy. Just mean and stupid.” She made a face. “So I said next time she tried that, I’d hack into her TV and shut it down so she can’t watch Peppa Pig.”

“Proud of you, kiddo.” I kissed her forehead, making her grin and squirm. “Pretty sure we haven’t covered hacking yet, though. You gotta start with the small stuff.” My daughter, the juvenile delinquent. Oy. 

“She doesn’t know that. Her daddy’s only a lawyer, he doesn’t know science stuff.” Her smirk was just like mine. God, I really _was_ proud of her. 

“Guess we can skip the ‘how to bluff your enemies’ part of the curriculum.” I put her down and took her hand, guiding her across the street to where I’d parked the car.

Once upon a time I’d driven fast sports cars. I still drove fast cars... or should that be I drove cars, fast... but they were bought with safety in mind and modded to the hilt. Armour plating, defence system, bitchin’ sound system (which mostly played Taylor Swift – Donna was going through a phase and of course I told everyone I hated it, but I knew every goddamned word to every goddamned song), heated seats and the obligatory cup holder. 

Those were just the official mods. The ones I’d done myself – nanite response system, amongst other things – I shared with no one but Stephen. We couldn’t cover Donna in bubble wrap, but this was the next best thing.

When she’d been a couple months old, Stephen had wanted to put her under some protective enchantments. I’d learned to be OK with magic (despite, or perhaps because of, the number that had been done years ago to mess up my head) but I’d put my foot down about that. Until we knew how her own magic might manifest, we’d agreed not to expose her to anything that might hasten that manifestation. My kid was a power house and she’d been born with natural reserves stronger than Stephen’s, but neither of us were in a hurry to find out what she might be able to do with those reserves. We’d got a little taste of that when she’d been a baby.

“Daddy, can we go visit Peter?” she asked as I was buckling her into her car-seat.

“Not today, honey. Petey has to work.” 

His editor had him investigating Spider-Man, and the irony was delicious. He didn’t think so. Life would be a lot easier for him if he just took his superhero suit out of the closet, but he wasn’t ready for the world to know Spider-Man’s true identity. I respected that. He’d already come to learn that anonymity wasn’t always permanent, and keeping a secret that big had consequences.

“Aww.” Her face fell. “Can’t he take time off?”

“Jobs don’t work that way, we can’t just take time off whenever we want. Grown-ups have bills to pay, girlfriends to please. Delicious cherry pies to look after.” 

Her one-shouldered shrug told me she didn’t care for cherry pie, either. Sheesh. Was this kid fussy, or what? 

“You and Papa hardly ever take time off.” Her voice was sad. “Melissa Baumgarden said her daddy makes so much money her mommy doesn’t have to work, so they get to spend as much time together as they want.”

This time my heart didn’t just twist, it wrenched, grinding against my ribcage. What the hell were Stephen and I doing, thinking we could be parents? 

“We’ll sort something out,” I said. “The four of us, OK? You, me, Papa, Petey. A day trip or something.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Avocado.”

“Only minellials put avocado in pies. Pinkie promise, daddy.”

Oh my god. _Minellials._ She was so fucking adorable I wanted to eat her whole. Keeping a straight face, I held my hand out and pinkie promised. 

~

When we got home I sent Donna off to play under F.R.I.D.A.Y’s watchful eye while I settled down to work. But I called Peter first, checked his schedule, and sounded him out for a playdate. We hadn’t seen him for a couple weeks – pressures of his job this time, rather than ours – and he was more than up for the idea. He took his big brother duties seriously.

Tearing Stephen away from Kamar-Taj was going to be a problem, though, and a fresh wave of resentment washed over me. I got distracted by work, sure, but at least I was in the same building as our daughter. When she woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, I was here. Almost certainly still in the lab... but here. 

When _I_ woke from bad dreams – the remnants of PTSD I’d probably have to live with for the rest of my life – there wasn’t always someone here for me. Whatever his reasons, he was shutting me out the same way I’d shut Pepper out years ago, and it hurt like hell. 

Damn you, Stephen.

“Incoming call from Shuri, boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice dragged me out of my negative introspection. 

“Put her through,” I sighed. Maybe she’d fixed her terrorist problem. “Shuri, you got something good for me? Couple of juicy criminals, maybe, with a side order of vibranium?”

“More or less.” She sounded tense. “I have information you can use. The people behind the vibranium mine explosions call themselves the Deep Brotherhood, and their purpose is to keep Wakandan resources in Wakanda. They are going after our international clients.”

I cut the banter. “How many people have they hit so far?” Vibranium sales were more tightly regulated than uranium, and the global list of buyers would fill a small piece of paper.

“I can’t tell you that, but it is my duty to warn all of our buyers. And it is my duty to you as a friend to warn you first.”

“Thank you. You got any concrete information you can send me? Names, faces, whatever?”

“I have just transferred the information on our secure server.”

“Secure server, huh? You don’t wanna share this with local law enforcement?”

“These people are using Wakandan technology. You _are_ local law enforcement.”

Ten years ago my ego would have seen that as a compliment. Now, my ego had taken enough of a beating to recognise what it really was: - a warning. It meant that the Deep Brotherhood were armed for bear.

~

We ended the call. Before I reviewed Shuri’s, I had F.R.I.D.A.Y check the security systems on the lab, living quarters, underground garage, and roof-top garden. I sent messages to Peter, warning him to be careful (although his secret life as Spider-Man was still safe, his connection to me was well known), then deployed a few back-up security systems around his apartment. I didn’t exactly have his permission to use them. I mean we’d discussed having them, but he pretty much relied on his tingling spider-senses to warn him when danger was imminent. I’d rather rely on motion, heat and proximity sensors. 

And when that was done, I messaged Stephen. I was less worried about him than Peter; he was the freaking Sorcerer Supreme, he was surrounded by other sorcerers, and he had plenty of experience taking care of himself. 

And he was half a world away. Sometimes... hell, most of the time – it was possible to believe we didn’t even live together. 

~

Another orange-ringed gate opened a few minutes after I sent Stephen the message. He strode through, closing the gate behind him. Before I could even voice my surprise, he grabbed me, hauled me close, and kissed me. 

I groaned in helpless response, stunned by his sudden arrival, his sudden passion. I dug my fingers into the collar of the Coat, keeping him close as his tongue ravaged my mouth. When we were like this it was easy to forget that we had problems, that he seemed to spend more time at Kamar-Taj or the Sanctum than he did with his family. 

“What brought that on?” I asked when he finally raised his head. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted. I wanted to kiss him again. “Not that I don’t love it when you show up out of nowhere and kiss me senseless.”

His hands slid under my T-shirt. His palms were warm and dry, his fingers lightly digging into my hips.

“Senseless, huh?” His voice was a low growl. “Strange.” He kissed the side of my face. “You don’t look senseless.” He nipped my earlobe, making me shiver. 

I brought my hands up and grabbed his face, dragging his mouth back down to mine. I bit his tongue – just lightly digging my teeth into his flesh – running the fingers of one hand through the hair at the back of his head. I felt the shape of his erection even through several layers of clothing. 

“Alright, so I was worried,” he admitted, dragging his mouth away again. His eyes were liquid pools of fire and I didn’t know whether I wanted to drown, burn, or both. “For some reason, the idea of terrorists threatening my family makes me a tad concerned.”

Beneath his lust – beneath his desire and flippant words – he was scared. I saw it in the tight set of his mouth, the way his nostrils flared. My anger at him vanished. Who knew all I had to do to get him to come back was make him worried for our safety? Maybe if I staged an attack he’d stay for good.

_God._ I shouldn’t even _think_ shit like that. Tempt fate too often, that bitch came and smacked you in the mouth.

“Thank you,” I said instead, sliding my hands to his shoulders. It was good to have him home... however long he stayed. 

“Donna’s OK?” 

“Sure. F.R.I.D.A.Y’s keeping an eye.”

“How about we go say hello? Then I can cook dinner.” I felt the tension melting from his frame. “We can eat on the roof.”

I smiled, then leaned forward again and gently kissed him.

“Sounds perfect.”

~

I could make a weapon of war out of two forks and a rubber band, but I could not cook for shit. Luckily, Stephen could bang out a three-course masterpiece with nothing more than a head of broccoli, a block of cheese and a couple onions, so when he was here we ate like kings and queens. When he wasn’t here, I hired a chef or we had take-out. 

Donna would live on pizza, but it would be a frosty day in hell before I let that happen. And the older I got the easier it was to put on an extra pound or two, and the harder it was to shift. I didn’t drink anymore, so at least I didn’t have to worry about a beer belly. And Stephen, well… he just seemed to get thinner, his ribs more prominent. Probably meant he wasn’t eating properly when he wasn’t home. Asshole. Couldn’t even let me nag him into eating.

We ate in the roof garden, gathered around the wrought-iron table. Donna, particularly, loved it out here, and I knew why – four stories above street-level, it was a little slice of wild perfection. Most of it had been designed by professional landscapers, and a guy came in every couple of weeks to maintain it, but other than that it could be a jungle. A botanist buddy of mine had tinkered with the plants to make them ultra-resistant to cold weather, so even in winter we had plenty of greenery. 

More precious than that, Donna had her own space here. She’d picked out a little spot, dug the soil (alright, _I’d_ dug the soil, and Stephen had enjoyed the hell out of watching me get sweaty and dirty) and she’d planted sunflower seeds. They were growing great and it made her proud as punch. It made _me_ proud as punch – this was her own achievement, something that had come from herself. It had nothing to do with nanite skin. Nothing to do with magic. 

Over salad and grilled chicken (with a handful of plain chips for the kid) Donna told her Papa all about Melissa Baumgarden and the paint incident. 

“You threatened to hack into her TV system?” Stephen’s eyebrows shot up. “Sweetheart, you know it’s wrong to threaten people.”

“The alternative was punching the little monster in the face,” I interjected. 

Stephen sighed. “Violence or threats aren’t the answer.”

“But that’s what you both do.” Her chin went out, her mouth did that little pouty thing, and I knew we were in for a storm. Oh boy. All I’d wanted was a quiet night with my family. “You punch bad guys and say all kinds of mean things to them.”

“But this Melissa, she’s just a little girl –”

“Daddy, there’s a kitty!” And just like that, the storm clouds were gone. I also took careful note of the fact that she’d called out _my_ name, not her Papa’s, a fact that wasn’t lost on him either. 

She was off her seat and running across the garden before I could stop her. I put my knife and fork down, briefly looked at Stephen, and went after her.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” I murmured, “tell me how a cat got into a garden that just happens to be four stories up? _After_ I’ve initiated a tighter security protocol?”

“Your protocol doesn’t include felines, boss.” I couldn’t be sure, but F.R.I.D.A.Y sounded amused. “Terrorists, warlords, thugs and the like, but not felines.”

“Remind me to program the sass out of you.”

“You remind me to tell you that at every six months or so.” 

“Remind me to actually do it this time, will ya?” 

“Daddy, look at the kitty!” 

Donna was pointing excitedly at the little ginger cat lying in a patch of sunlight. The damned thing was watching her, green eyes half-open, tail flicking. 

“Now how did you get up here?” I asked, crouching next to it. “Don’t get too close, sweetie.” I put an arm up as Donna surged forward, holding her back. 

“But you’re close.” 

“That’s because if the kitty goes psycho crazy it’ll attack me first. That’s what daddies are for.”

She couldn’t refute that logic and settled instead for standing next to me.

No collar. Could have been someone’s pampered moggy, or a feral nightmare from the wrong side of the tracks.

I reached out, letting it sniff my fingers. It stretched its neck, tiny pink nose twitching, whiskers flicking. Four sets of claws and needle-sharp teeth did not sink into my flesh, so I figured it was probably safe enough to touch. 

Donna – who’d been inching forward – was finally close enough to reach out and pet it. Her fingers brushed across the animal’s flank before I tugged her back.

“Easy there, David Attenborough. You’re a little young to go bothering the wildlife.”

The wildlife, it seemed, didn’t mind being bothered. It got up and sauntered over to my daughter, twining around her legs. 

“It likes me, Daddy.” Her voice was high and hushed, the half-excited, half-respectful sound of someone who’d seen nature and really, _really_ wanted to take it home.

I finally stood up. My knees creaked. “Do you like chicken, kitty?”

“Can we keep it? Please can we?”

“I think we need to ask your Papa first.”

He was still sat at the table, watching us, a shuttered expression on his face. Great. I knew that look. He was brooding about something – probably the way Donna had turned to me during our previous conversation, completely ignoring the fact that he’d been trying to tell her off for threatening the Baumgarden kid.

Well, let him. If he was around more, Donna would probably feel she could include him in her discoveries. She might even come up with a sneakier way of dealing with bullies.

“Please, please, please can we keep it?” she asked, running back to him and grabbing his hand. He hoisted her up into his lap. She threw her arms around his neck. “Please can we?”

“I don’t know.” The brooding scowl was gone. He looked relaxed, peaceful, grey eyes sparkling. God, if we could just stay like this forever. “Looking after any animal is a big responsibility. You have to feed it every day, and look after it when it gets sick. Do you think you can do that?”

“I promise I will look after it.” Her little face was solemn, and I knew that – come hell or high water – she would treat that cat like a goddamned king. She got her stubbornness from the both of us, and it was both a blessing and a curse: - when she made up her mind to do something, it got done, whether it was the right course of action or not.

“Well, I guess you can keep it, then.” He looked at me. I nodded and sauntered back to the table, the cat strolling beside me. “But we should take it to the vet, get it checked out. At least find out whether it’s a boy or girl.”

I sat down. The cat jumped onto my lap, neck stretching, nose sniffing. Donna, smiling, took a piece of chicken from Stephen’s plate and offered it across. Another sniff. The cat took it, chewed, swallowed... and settled down on my knees. Donna giggled and reached for another piece of chicken.

“Wow,” Stephen said, an edge to his voice. “Something else that likes you more than me.”

I let it go. We already had enough problems in our relationship without adding another.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reading his daughter a bed-time story, Stephen ducks out yet again. This time, Donna uses her powers to follow him to Kamar-Taj. Once there she manages to find and repair the Cloak of Levitation.   
> Stephen finds her and brings her home, but he and Tony are horrified at this manifestation of her power: - it's tme to start thinking how they're going to handle this... and handle each other.

We finally managed to get Donna to bed. She’d spent time after dinner researching cats, and as I herded her down the hall to clean her teeth, she reeled off a string of facts. I was beginning to think it would have been easier to let her have a hamster.

“Can Papa read to me tonight?” she asked after she’d changed into her PJs. She sounded two parts hopeful to one part wistful. A twist of guilt tightened my chest, quickly followed by a spurt of resentment. If Stephen spent more time with us, I wouldn’t have to listen to my kid asking for a bedtime story she wasn’t expecting to get.

“Sure.” I smoothed her hair back from her face. “Let me go get him real quick.”

He was in the large living area when I found him, sprawled across a couch with a book in his lap. He looked good that way, relaxed, restful. As if this was where he was supposed to be.

Damn it. This _was_ where he was supposed to be.

“Shorty wants you to read to her tonight,” I said. The cat had inveigled its way under his arm, Christ only knows how. He wasn’t exactly an animal guy.

He looked up from the book. “And what do _you_ want?”

Was that ever a loaded question. “We’ll start with how I want you to stay longer than a night, and work out from there. But go read to the small fry first, OK?”

He opened his mouth. Hesitated. Closed it again. He put the book down, unfolded himself from the couch, and left the room. He gave me a single inscrutable look over his shoulder before he left. The cat sauntered after him.

When he was gone I threw myself down in his spot. It smelled of him. I curled up, burying my face against the fabric as I inhaled. It was still warm. If I pretended hard enough, I could almost believe it was part of him.

~

“Boss, wake up.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y’s urgent voice broke through my sleep and I started awake, sitting up.

“Ow.” I rubbed the crick in my neck. I looked at my watch – a little past midnight. “Where’s the fire?”

“Stephen left through a gate. Donna created her own gate and has just gone through.”

I shook my head, waking up in a hurry.

“Run that by me again?” I started looking for my phone. Where the fuck was it...

“Donna just –” 

“Heard you the first time!” I yelled, panic clawing at my chest. The pain of knowing Stephen had walked out on me – on _us_ – yet again was buried beneath a raging ball of fear. We’d always worried that Donna’s magic would manifest; well, it looked like we’d just got our first taste.

I pawed at the phone, scrolling to get Stephen’s number. I’d just hit the call button when a swirl of orange sparks materialised in the middle of the room.

“Oh thank God,” I muttered, dropping the phone. I staggered back against the couch, dropping heavily into the cushions.

Stephen slowly emerged through the open gate, Donna gathered in his arms, wrapped in a red blanket. And the damned cat strolled at Stephen’s heels.

The surge of emotions – terror, relief – had really taken it out of me. I pushed myself up, reaching for my family, throwing my arms around them. Donna made a sleepy noise and burrowed against her Papa’s chest. She was out for the count.

“Is she OK?” I croaked. I pulled back far enough that I could see Stephen’s face. “Are _you_ OK? What the hell happened?”

“Let me put her down.” His voice was strained. I let him go, standing aside but hovering anxiously at his side as he laid her on the couch. The red fabric moved, sliding around her –

“Oh my God!” I blurted. “Is that the _Cloak?_ ”

“She fixed it, Tony.”

~

I sat down on the floor next to the couch, unwilling to take even the few steps necessary to sit on an armchair. Stephen sat cross-legged opposite me. Of course, the man to whom spiritualism and meditation were meat and bread would make sitting cross-legged way too easy.

The cat crawled into my lap and started purring. If it had fleas, I’d take ‘em; every wave vibrated through my chest, calming me down. Who needed Valium, right? Just get yourself a cat.

“She created her own gate,” Stephen said in a low, troubled voice, his eyes fixed on our daughter’s face. “Sorcerers use a device called a sling-ring to open gates. It takes months, years of practise to develop the focus of mind required to do this. We have to have a clear destination in mind.”

“And Donna...?” I couldn’t even begin to put voice to the mess inside my head. 

“Watched me do it. Copied what I did. No sling-ring, no training, no instruction.” He let out a long, shuddering breath, and when he finally let his eyes meet mine they were tortured. “No backup. I had no idea she’d followed me to Kamar-Taj until one of the students found her wandering around.”

“My God.” I didn’t understand the risks involved in interdimensional gate travel, but I understood the fear in Stephen’s voice. The idea of what she’d done terrified him. So it terrified me, too.

“And as for this thing with the Cloak, I don’t...” He stammered, trailed off, rubbed his chin. “I mean I don’t know what the hell to make of it. I’ve spent the last five years trying to repair it, and nothing I’ve tried has worked. Then she comes along and...”

“What did she do?” This was almost too much to get my head around, and I’d seen plenty of crazy shit in my life.

“She found a needle and thread and just...” He sighed. “She just sewed the pieces together. That shouldn’t work. I tried it, it was the _first_ thing I tried, and the residual magic in the Cloak burned the stitches to ash.”

“So how did she...?”

“Her own force of will. Same with the gate, I think. She wanted something, so she willed it to be.” He let out a short, hysterical laugh, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “And for a five-year-old, her stitching is _great._ ”

He was close to losing it. I’d seen him like this once before, the first time we’d realised Donna had a wellspring of magical power, and I would do whatever I could to help him keep it together. _I_ was the overly-emotional one, the one who flew off the handle, and he’d always been my rock.

I leaned forward and hugged him. He stiffened, then melted against me, burying his face against my neck. The position was awkward and had to be hurting his back (it was certainly hurting mine) but I was in no hurry to let him go. And he seemed in no hurry to move.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “This is all my fault, I never expected she’d be able to make her own gates. If something had happened to her, I –”

“Stop,” I said into his ear, threading my fingers into his hair. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

“I blame myself –”

“I said stop, ‘k?” I interrupted. “I don’t blame you, but I need you to keep it together. Can you do that? Because the first time she’s able to control her nanite armour and decides to go off and fight the bad guys, I’m gonna be an emotional wreck.”

That startled a laugh out of him, as I’d hoped. He finally raised his face from my neck. I caught the gleam of moisture in his eyes. I kissed him, just gently brushing my lips over his.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I know I’ve not been around much, but –”

“But we can talk about that later,” I said, a jumble of feelings surging through my system. We needed to talk about his absences – in fact we should have talked about them months ago, before things had got out of hand – but we were both riding the edge of a meltdown right now. 

“You’re right,” he said, letting out a slow, juddering sigh. “How do you think we should deal with this?” He nodded at our daughter.

I thought about it, my eyes drawn to her sleeping form. The Cloak quivered a little, the hem rippling. Waving at me, perhaps. It was hard to tell when it was all bundled around her.

“We have to think about training her,” I said eventually. “And not just in magic. She needs to learn about ethics and morals and all that jazz, I mean like seriously learn. Today she opened a gate because she wanted to follow you, and fixed the Cloak because... well, I guess because she saw it was broken and hurting and she wanted to help. But what happens when that Melissa kid kicks off again? What happens when Donna decides she wants to turn her into a donkey or something?”

“Magic doesn’t work like that –” 

“You know what I mean,” I said. “We need to teach her to find her moral compass. And pray like hell we manage to raise a good kid.”

His lips quirked. “I think that’s what most parents want.”

“Hey, these little aliens don’t come with an instruction manual.”

“Oh, there’s a fairly extensive set of manuals,” Stephen said. “It’s called ‘the internet’.” 

“Uh, hello? I’m trying to have a profound moment here.” God, he could be an ass sometimes.

“Sorry, sorry, carry on. I love it when you’re profound.”

“Are you sassing me?”

He looked at me with eyebrows lifted. “I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

My throat tightened. My eyes stung, but I smiled anyway. Despite our problems – and I had to admit, even without factoring Donna into the mix, we had a few – I loved this man.

~

We dozed off and on for the next couple hours, neither of us willing to leave Donna alone or even to move her. I hadn’t slept on a floor for a long time, and every one of my bones was keen to remind me of that fact.

I gave up sometime around dawn. Stephen was still asleep; the asshole could sleep anywhere, anytime, presumably thanks to his sorcerer training. I made coffee, deliberately waving a full mug under his nose. 

A sniff. A flicker of his eyelids.

“It’s not tea,” he grumbled. “Your chemical warfare has no power over me.”

“Keep telling yourself that, big guy. Just admit my coffee woke you up.”

“I admit nothing.” He finally opened his eyes.

I took pity and handed over the mug of tea I’d been holding back. See, that was real love, right there. 

The ginger cat (which had spent most of the last couple hours on my lap before decamping to Donna’s feet) yawned and stretched. It started kneading at the Cloak. The Cloak – understandably – was not impressed, and drew all its flapping edges back. The movement woke my kid.

“Daddy?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Papa!” Her smile was bright enough to light up my world. Then it vanished. “Am I in trouble?”

“Why don’t we get you a little breakfast first?” I said. “And maybe something for the fleabag.” I prodded the cat, which hissed but made zero effort to shift. “Then we can talk.”

~

When Donna moved, the Cloak unfurled and let her get up. It hovered at her side, giving me my first unobstructed look. The last time I’d seen it, it had been in strips of barely-animated fabric that hurt to look at. Now all those strips were sewn together... with neon green thread. Jesus, that was ugly. Either my daughter was colour-blind, or she was developing a seriously shitty taste in colours.

Where had she even got hold of a needle and thread? Couldn’t sorcerers just magic their robes back together? I told myself to let it go, just another of life’s little mysteries. The whole episode was so fantastical that the little matter of sewing equipment seemed unimportant. I was no expert, but the stitches – although out-sized – looked pretty neat.

“Wow,” I said. “It’s good to see ya, buddy. How you feeling?”

The Cloak lifted up a corner of its hem. I held out my hand. We shook, and I flashed right back to that moment on the spaceship when Stephen had formally introduced us.

The fabric rippled. The Cloak surged forward and wrapped me up like a burrito, leaving my head and feet sticking out of the top and bottom. 

I laughed, trying to surreptitiously sniff the collar. Even after five years, there was still a hint of Stephen’s scent on the fabric. 

“I missed you, you great lunk.” 

The Cloak tightened. Yeah. It had missed me, too. 

~

Stephen made pancakes. I would battle through armies of aliens for Stephen’s pancakes. A few strips of bacon, some maple syrup... God, just the thought of it made me drool. Donna was most definitely my child, because pancakes were her favourite food. She didn’t like bacon (the horror!) but she made up for that with enough syrup to drown a small country. 

I shared my bacon with the cat. Guess I was just a sucker for big eyes.

“OK,” I said, when the food was gone and Stephen was making fresh drinks. The Cloak had curled up at Donna’s feet, while the cat was up an empty stool, watching me in case I suddenly produced more bacon. “You’re not in trouble, but you need to understand that what you did yesterday was dangerous.”

“Why?” Donna pushed a finger through the syrup pool on her plate.

“Sweetheart, sorcerers train for a long time to open gates.” Stephen took over. “If you don’t have a real clear destination in mind, at best the gate won’t open. Worst case scenario, you could get trapped in the space between worlds.”

“But you could come and save me, right?” she asked with all the certainty and belief of a child. 

“I would certainly try. But you might get hurt before I could find you.” He hesitated, and I could tell he was weighing up his words. “Or I might get hurt trying to save you.”

Her eyes widened, the faint glimmer of tears forming in those beautiful grey depths. She looked at me – for support, maybe, or for me to refute what her Papa had said because he was all-powerful and no-one could hurt him – but I was just as shocked as she was. I was just better at hiding my reaction. This was the reality we lived with every day as a couple; both our jobs were inherently dangerous, and we both had a limited shelf-life. One day, the job would kill us, and one of us would be alone.

“I don’t want you to get hurt!” she said. “Teach me how to open gates properly!”

It was a pretty low trick, and as she got older there’d be less and less sugar-coating. It was going to be hard for her...but ultimately, I hoped, we were doing the right thing.

~

The rest of the conversation boiled down to ‘let’s teach you to walk before you can run.’ I kind of tuned out, but the gist seemed to be that Stephen would step up her meditation, help her get used to looking at her own power before she really started to use it. He didn’t come right out and say so, but I knew ethics and morals would be right at the top of her curriculum – he had a lot to say about duty and responsibility. He moved on when her eyes started to glaze over.

“You have to promise to keep this a secret,” Stephen finished. “You can’t tell any of your friends at school, or your teachers.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve got a gift, Donna, a very special gift. People would get jealous if they found out. They’d be mean to you.” 

What he carefully wasn’t saying – but that I realised as well as he did – was that if Nick Fury, former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D and all-round asshole, ever found out about her abilities, he’d move Heaven and Earth to take her away from us. Even if he didn’t enact our own personal Doomsday scenario, he’d find ways to turn her against us, to indoctrinate her into his stupid goddamned Young Avengers Initiative. I had no doubt his secret plan was underway and already gaining ground, with or without the knowledge of his replacement Daisy ‘Quake’ Johnson, but my daughter would not – would _never_ – be part of that plan.

“But all _your_ friends know you’re a sorcerer.” She sounded sullen, and was only making a token effort to hide it. 

“That’s because all my friends are either sorcerers or Avengers,” he said. “Now promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I promise,” she said.

Hang on. I recognised that glint in her eyes...

“Pinkie promise,” I corrected. “Physically impossible to break one of those, right?”

Donna sighed and slumped, knowing she’d been busted. She held her hand out, little finger crooked.

“Pinkie promise,” Stephen rumbled, hooking his finger around hers. The light in _his_ eyes told a different story – the asshole was trying not to laugh. “Now, I’m going to work out a lesson plan for you.”

Donna brightened. “Does that mean you’ll be home more?”

_I_ brightened. “Yeah, Papa Bear. Will you be home more?”

He hesitated. “Well, I thought I might take her to Kamar-Taj –”

“She has school here,” I snapped, interrupting before he could break her heart… and mine. “You’re coming back here every day and you’re gonna teach her. OK?”

Stephen nodded. But he didn’t look happy.

Damn it. My heart was breaking anyway.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Stephen lay out some ground rules for Donna and the Cloak.   
> Stephen takes Donna to school.  
> Tony fights the Deep Brotherhood terrorists.

I sent Donna to go wash up, knowing full well her fingers were still covered with maple syrup. The Cloak trailed after her like a dog. The cat followed like a… actually the cat was just sauntering, following without giving the impression that it was in any way connected to my daughter. God! Cats, right?

“Show me your hands,” I said when she came back. The Cloak had wrapped itself around her shoulders like a cowl. The cat trotted past her, leaping up into my lap. For such a little guy it was surprisingly solid.

Donna held her hands out for inspection. Pink and clean. I nodded and ruffled her hair, making her duck away.

“Alright, Doctor Dolittle,” I said as she climbed back up into her chair. “This dude’s called the Cloak.” I left out the ‘levitation’ part; she was way too young to know that it would let her fly. “If it’s sticking around, there’s gotta be some ground rules.”

“OK,” she said, looking between me and Stephen. I knew that look in her eyes – she was weighing up whether she’d be allowed to keep her new toy. She didn’t know it wasn’t as easy as being ‘allowed’ to keep it – the Cloak was a relic, a magical device with a personality all its own, and it chose its people. But we had to keep that from her for just a little while longer. Like, until she hit twenty-five. 

“This guy’s gonna want to hang around you like a bad stink,” I said, making her giggle. “First rule of Cloak Club – it doesn’t leave the house.” Because if anyone with an ounce of magical knowledge connected them, they’d work out just how special she was. We couldn’t risk that.

“But Daddy –”

“I’m sorry, did I say you could interrupt? Don’t recall saying you could interrupt. Did I say that to you, Hunny Bun?”

Stephen – probably still smarting from being snapped at earlier – just scowled and shook his head. He tolerated Papa Bear (barely) but he hated Hunny Bun. Well, tough. We all had to put up with things we didn’t like. Him not being here, for instance. 

Judging by the way the Cloak had part-uncoiled from around Donna’s shoulders and arranged itself beside her, the collar pointing up and facing me, it was not happy with the ground rules. For something that didn’t have eyes, the dude had a pointed way of looking at you.

Donna subsided, sinking back into her chair. The Cloak continued to passive-aggressive glare at me. Keep it up, buddy, I’ve been glared at by more intimidating people than you.

“You weren’t punished for sneaking after your Papa, OK?” I said. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences. This is the consequence. Do you understand, baby girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Her sullen reply was a hint of the teenager she’d become, and I knew we were going to have our hands full even without factoring in all the technological and magical crap. She was our daughter, biologically mine and Stephen’s, but last night had driven it home: - it was beginning to feel as if she was more his than mine. They both had magic. They’d be able to connect to each other on a level I’d never achieve. We bonded over the tech stuff, and I hoped I’d be able to help her deal with her nanite skin, but the magic? I barely understood how it worked.

I tried to push those thoughts aside. Business at hand, Tony; business at hand. 

“Do _you_ understand, big guy?” I said, brushing my fingers over the Cloak. The rich scarlet cloth quivered, then nodded, the collar bending.

“Good.” I let out a breath. “Right, D, go brush your teeth and get your things together.”

“Can I take the kitty to school?”

My God. She didn’t know when to quit.

“ _No,_ Donna.”

~

I made Stephen drive her. He was going to gate her there, but I was feeling vindictive and wanted him to suffer the New York traffic he seemed so keen to escape. He looked tense and miserable, and it was only when they were gone I realised what a massive douche I’d just been – Stephen hadn’t driven since the accident that had wrecked his hands and his career as a surgeon. 

“Jeez, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” I said, heading to my lab. “When did I turn into such a prick?”

“As your creation, boss, I’m honour-bound not to answer that.”

“Remind me to get you those processors you were eying up the other day.”

“Sure thing!”

The cat meowed and twined around my legs. 

“Scram,” I said. “You ate the last of the bacon. Go on. Stick around too much longer and I’ll remember I still have to take you to the vet.”

The cat meowed again and jumped onto the nearest work surface, arching its neck. I scratched behind its ears with one hand, turning on the lab TV with the other so I could catch up on the news.

“– armed attack is in process,” the anchor woman was saying. “The upstate New York compound owned and occupied by billionaire researcher Sebastian Scrivener was attacked a few minutes ago. Nothing is yet known about the attackers...”

“Hello,” I said. I stopped stroking the cat; it batted my hand, trying to get my attention again. I absent-mindedly gave it another quick scratch.

Sebastian Scrivener was one of Shuri’s vibranium buyers. I’d put a Ben Franklin on the attackers being Deep Brotherhood.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, tell Stephen I’ve gotta do a little housework,” I said. “And that he might want to hang around with Donna until I’ve taken out the trash.”

“On it, boss.”

“Catchphrase, catchphrase...” I scratched my chin. “It’s clobbering time... no, that’s the Thing... Hulk smash... no, that’s Banner’s...” Dammit. “I’m too cool for this shit.” 

The cat hawked up a hairball.

“Screw you, Garfield.”

~

With my suit’s enhanced propulsion system, I made Scrivener’s estate in a couple of minutes. I used the repulsors to hover, surveying the scene below.

“Any word from Stephen?” I asked.

“He said to tell you not to do anything more foolish than usual,” F.R.I.D.A.Y remarked, “and wondered what you’d like for dinner.”

I grinned. If he was cooking, it meant he was staying... at least for a little while.

“Tell him I’m down for a cheeseburger,” I said, using the suit’s HUD to track individual hostiles. Thirty guys. “Though maybe he could use the low fat mince if he’s cooking from scratch. Oh, and ask him if he could pick up some more mayo, I think we’re out.”

During the moment it took F.R.I.D.A.Y to relay my instructions, I ran a quick analysis program on the gear and weapons the terrorists were toting. High-tech. Wakandan style. Oh yeah, this was _totally_ a Deep Brotherhood attack.

“Stephen wants to know whether you’d like regular or low-fat mayo.”

“Regular! God, what kind of monster buys low-fat mayo?”

“Would you like me to tell him that?” F.R.I.D.A.Y sounded amused.

“Yes! He needs to know he’s a monster.” Applying an algorithm to the terrorist’s movements, I was able to predict their goal. “Low-fat mayo? Come on.” I shook my head. “I’m going in, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Stephen says to be careful. And that he loves you.” Her voice had softened.

I swallowed. “Tell the idiot I love him too.”

Using thermal imaging, it was apparent the Deep Brotherhood were heading for a location in the middle of the compound, several stories underground. If Scrivener was anything like me, this was likely the location of his panic room (the one I’d had built back home was for Donna – Stephen and I could take care of ourselves). I didn’t blame him. The guy was a scientist, not a fighter. 

I swooped low over the compound, closing fast on the first of my targets. Running around the outside of a swimming pool, they wore dark robes and hoods so I couldn’t see their faces, but it didn’t matter – I’d been in enough battles to recognise foot soldiers when I saw them. I hit them hard, using the force of my forward momentum to knock them down, the suit cushioning the impact so I barely felt it. One of them tumbled into the pool; not wanting him to drown, I leaped in, blue-tinted water sliding over the visor. I grabbed him, deploying the foot thrusters to pull us out.

We burst out of the water, the robed guy dangling limply in my arms. I tossed him at the next nearest target, a robed figure climbing the side of the main house. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, dial down the output on the palm repulsors,” I said. “I wanna stun these guys, not cook them.” A hail of bullets clattered harmlessly off the suit. I tracked the trajectory back to the shooter, another faceless robe positioned on top of the pool-house. I lifted my arm, palm facing out, and blasted him out of his eerie. 

Something slammed into me hard enough to catapult me across the pool. Before I could react I was sinking; my feet touched the bottom and I kicked off, using the thrusters again to explode out of the water and into the air, climbing high enough to get a good view of the surroundings.

“Suit integrity down to eighty-one per-cent, boss.”

“What the hell was that?” I demanded, scanning the targets. I was wasting my time with these perimeter guards – I needed to get inside that house, find the leader, and take him out. Or, you know, hang around until some asshole took _me_ out. Starting to think I was getting too old for this shit.

“I believe ‘that’ was this,” F.R.I.D.A.Y said, focussing my HUD on a figure who’d just leaped onto the roof of the pool-house. Not just tactical armour but a mask, skull-like, gleaming white as he settled a rocket launcher on his shoulder and took aim. 

“Yo, buddy!” I barked, switching to the suit’s public address system so he could hear me. “That was rude! I don’t know what your mom taught you, but in New York a hello translates to ‘fuck you’ rather than a missile in the face!”

The man’s shoulders shook. I couldn’t be sure from this distance, but I thought he was laughing. Prick.

I targeted his rocket launcher with a palm repulsor, meaning to blast it out of his hands. He side-stepped at the same time I fired; the blast burst through the pool-house roof, covering him with shards of wood and slate. I didn’t see his reaction because he fired another rocket while I was still gawping at his quick reactions. 

I diverted power to the foot thrusters, trying to take evasive action, but I was too slow – the missile exploded a couple feet below me, sending me tumbling through the air. I hit the side of the house, exploding through the wall in a shower of masonry and dust.

“ _Ow…_ ”

“Suit integrity down to seventy-five per cent.”

“What the hell is in those missiles?” I grunted, clawing back to my feet. “This suit’s strong enough to take more than a hit like that!”

“Running analysis on the residue left on your suit.”

I ran out through the hole I’d made. The asshole was still up on the pool-house roof, skull-mask pointing in my direction. I was too pissed off for banter – I hit him with both palm repulsors. Again he just stepped aside, letting the energy blasts tear through the house. 

“Alright, so you’re quick,” I ground out. “I mean, not Peter Maximoff quick, dude could swipe the sandwich off your plate, but you’ve got some –” I blasted him again, without warning, scowling as he avoided the shots, “moves.”

Now I was pissed. It was time to level the playing field.

Pushing maximum power to the palm-repulsors, I directed them both at the swimming pool, using the massive burst of energy to boil the water. Steam gushed up, expanding, obscuring the area. I stopped when I had enough, switching to infra-red.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, play me the theme tune to _Predator,_ ” I said. Low, suspenseful music piped into my ear. “If it bleeds, we can… well, shit, I don’t even know if this asshole bleeds.” It was time to stop playing tag and find out.

I’d taken down a couple of the terrorists, but not enough to make a difference. The majority were still in the house. I ran inside, feet crunching through the wreckage of the room I’d destroyed, and called up the building’s blueprints again. Find Sebastian Scrivener, get him out, avoid Speedy. 

Movement drew my eyes down, but too late – a beam of yellow energy coiled around my waist a second before a massive force yanked me back. I engaged the thrusters, fighting the pull, but it wasn’t enough; I came tumbling through the house, crashing against the already-cracked concrete floor. The suit’s shock absorbers were struggling to keep up… or maybe my body was just less able to cope with combat. Maybe I really _was_ getting too old for this shit.

“ _Not cool!_ ” I yelled, scrabbling at the broken masonry, flailing to find an anchor. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, did we get the anti-grav thing installed in this suit?”

“Installed but not fully test –”

“Deploy! Deploy!”

My backward progress through the steam stopped abruptly, though the tension on the energy whip around my waist intensified. Even with the suit negating most of the pressure, it still felt as if I was being cut in half. If I’d been in plain clothes I probably would have been. Whatever punk was on the other end of this thing, he wasn’t pulling his punches. 

“Suit integrity falling fast, boss!” Alarms went off in my ear, red lights flashing across the HUD. 

Cutting the palm repulsors, grunting with effort, I half-turned and managed to get a grip on the energy whip, meaning to yank this asshole off his feet. Bad move: - pain surged up my arms like an electric shock, making my muscles contract so hard I almost bit my tongue.

“Boss, disengage!” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s urgent voice sounded in my ear. “I’m reading wild fluctuations in your heart-rate!”

“Can’t,” I groaned. I literally couldn’t – my fingers had locked around the whip. 

A figure appeared out of the billowing steam. She was tall and elegant, long white hair in dreadlocks piled on top of her head, highlighting the rich coffee tones of her skin. A red dress clung to her body, a tribal pattern I recognised from Wakanda, and she was wearing light tactical armour – a pauldron over her right shoulder; wrist guards; calf guards. Combat boots. She carried a gnarled black staff in one hand. 

The energy whip emerged from the palm of her other hand. I’d seen this before. She was a goddamned sorcerer. 

“Tony Stark.” Her voice was melodic. “So predictable. Always stepping in to save the day.” She gave the energy whip a hard yank; the alarms on my suit intensified, deeper pain lashing along my arms and torso. I groaned. “Now you are alone and there is no one to save you.”

I couldn’t move, but I certainly wasn’t helpless. I activated the suit’s shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, firing before they were fully raised. If I could just get out of this energy whip – 

The woman waved her staff. The rockets vanished.

“Nice try,” she laughed, stalking forwards, keeping the tension on the whip. “But pointless. I killed Sebastian Scrivener and now I’m going to kill you. The Wakandan Royal Family,” and her voice dripped sudden derision, “will not be able to hide the activities of the Deep Brotherhood now.”

Stephen’s face floated behind my eyes. Donna’s face. No way was I going to let this bitch keep the upper hand; I wasn’t dying in someone’s goddamned back yard. 

“Turn off – anti-grav,” I managed to get out.

My body shot forward, barrelling into the sorceress hard enough to bowl her over.

“ _Strike!_ ” I yelled, tumbling away and scrambling to my feet. She was already reaching for her staff; I hit it with a palm repulsor and it skittered away, smoking, tiny flames crawling along the length of wood. 

A force slammed into me from behind, knocking me into what was left of the pool. I landed in a couple feet of water. The suit’s cushioning field barely compensated, and it felt as if I’d just been dropped onto a concrete floor. 

The douche in the skull mask. I’d forgotten about him, too distracted by the chick with the staff. Now I was paying for my mistake. He was getting to his feet while I was still getting my jumbled head around what the hell had just happened.

He punched me in the face. The suit absorbed most of the blow, but it was still enough to drive me back; I lost my balance and splashed into the water. I hit him with a palm repulsor but he was already moving – 

It hit him in the face. He tumbled back, screaming, clawing at the now-burning skull mask. 

He dropped and rolled in the water, sending up a fresh burst of steam and mercifully cutting off his hoarse screams. Guilt crawled through my stomach. No time for that now.

I jumped, directing power to the foot thrusters. I’d got about ten feet into the air when the witch’s energy whip lashed around my neck, slamming me back into the water. Agony surged through my body. I barely felt the impact. I couldn’t get my limbs to move. All I could do was stare up at the sky like an idiot.

“Suit integrity down to critical levels!” F.R.I.D.A.Y said. “If it breaches while you’re incapacitated, you’ll drown!”

I tried to say ‘no shit’, but I couldn’t even speak. I was dimly aware that I’d bitten my tongue, could even taste the blood, but it was a secondary problem compared to the pain rampaging through my system.

The suit had a function I’d dubbed _Home._ If I lost consciousness – for whatever reason – the program would register that and activate, automatically piloting the suit to get me back to a safe location. What F.R.I.D.A.Y was trying to say was that I’d probably drown before the function kicked in. 

Something grabbed me out of the water. The pain stopped but my body twitched with aftershocks. I’d taken more damage than I’d thought – pain seared along my leg, my shoulder was numb, and a dozen other places felt bruised and battered. I dropped onto the cracked concrete. I tried to get my feet under me but my stupid legs wouldn’t hold. There wasn’t even enough power left to divert to the foot thrusters. Whatever juice the suit had left was going into the nanite stasis field. 

The guy who’d worn the skull mask came into my field of view, horribly burned and blistered, his tactical armour blackened and twisted. He kicked me in the face. My head rock backed. The suit’s mask was little protection and I heard the faceplate crack.

“Boss –”

“I know,” I grunted, activating the shock field.

Speedy was just in range to get caught. He dropped without a sound, body twitching, then lay still. The slow rise and fall of his ribs proved that he was still alive.

I managed to roll onto my back, staring stupidly up at the sky again. Everything hurt. I was pretty sure my leg was broken. I’d done something terrible to my shoulder, and if I wasn’t careful I was going to puke.

I saw the woman with the staff. Her face was drawn in a scowl. She said something in Wakandan, too fast for my scattered brains to translate, and waved at Speedy. He rose into the air. She looked back over her shoulder, uttered an oath I’d heard Shuri use on numerous occasions, and waved her staff. An orange-ringed gate opened ten feet away. She glanced back at me, spitting in my general direction, before running through the gate. The floating man shot after her, closely followed by a number of black-robed terrorists.

It was only when I saw fully-armed S.H.I.E.L.D agents run into view – led by Black Widow – that I understood why the sorceress and her henchman had fled. A flash of red and blue high on the mansion’s roof was Spider-Man. 

I figured it was probably safe to pass out.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony must endure the psychological fall-out from his fight as well as the physical. He takes a verbal grilling from an unexpected source.

Speedy’s blackened skull-face filled my vision. It was all I could see; huge, broken, something red and oozing underneath that could have been his burned flesh –

I jerked out of the nightmare, gasping, chest tight and hard with guilt. So now my stupid psyche had started in on me while I was unconscious as well as while I was asleep? _That_ sucked.

Of course, hitting a guy in the face with a full-force repulsor beam sucked even more… for him. Was he even still alive? Had I killed him?

I massaged my chest, trying to rationalise the guilt the same way I always did – it was a battle, battles meant casualties, you couldn’t make a cake without breaking a few eggs. 

It didn’t work. It never did.

I was at home, sitting up on a bed in my own private medical suite. You put on a suit and go fight crime, you’re gonna get beat up, so when I renovated the warehouse I’d added state-of-the-art facilities. Most of the equipment was self-operating but I had a couple specialists on the books. And it wasn’t just me who used this: - Stephen had needed it a couple times over the last few years, and Peter, and even a few S.H.I.E.L.D operatives. I’d learned to share my toys. 

I took stock of my injuries. My left leg was elevated on a stack of pillows, confined in a lattice-style cast that held the bone immobile but let air get to my skin. The red fibreglass was a nice touch. My right arm was a sling; a more temporary injury, I decided, tentatively moving the limb. Dislocated shoulder. Someone had popped it back in, but it would hurt for a while yet.

But what hurt the most? I was alone.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, did everyone go away for Christmas and forget I was still here?” I asked.

“They’re in the living area, boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s tone was subdued. “Stephen, Donna, Peter, Natasha and Bruce. Bruce insisted you be allowed to rest, and asked me to tell him when you woke. Which I am doing right now.”

“Huh.” So I wouldn’t have to come up with a series of creative ways to defeat the burglars. “Wish Stephen was here.” 

Even when I’d got my ass handed to me on a plate he couldn’t bring himself to stay with me. Great. Fabulous. Amazing.

“He was,” F.R.I.D.A.Y, said. “He and Donna both. Bruce kicked them out. There was shouting. Someone cried.”

“Poor Donna,” I croaked. “I wish she hadn’t got caught up in this –”

“It wasn’t her, boss.”

That brought me up short. “Bruce?” He was an emotional guy – 

“No.”

Jesus. I’d seen Stephen cry a couple times over the last five years, but he was a proud man. For him to lose it like that… wow. My anger vanished.

I had to see him. Like, right _now._

Moving slowly, I eased my broken leg over the side of the bed. The movement jostled my shoulder. Standing up was going to hurt like a bitch, but I’d do it. Walking anywhere… yeah, that was gonna be a problem, too. I needed to get a walking stick or a crutch or something – 

“Get back in that bed,” Stephen growled from the open doorway. Donna, behind him, peeked around his arm. Her eyes – so like Stephen’s – were huge and worried. The Cloak of Levitation was coiled around her shoulders. If that freaking cat peeked between her legs, I was gonna lose my shit.

“Can’t do that,” I said. “Gotta find the chick with the staff, gotta find the bas – I mean the dude – with the skull mask…” 

His face rose up again behind my eyes, the twisted, blackened remains of his mask melting. Guilt hit me again, like a hammer this time, slamming into my chest. I rubbed my sternum.

“What is it?” Stephen came forward, hand outstretched, Donna still hesitating at the door. “Is it your heart? F.R.I.D.A.Y said you took a sustained electrical shock –”

“I’m fine,” I croaked. I knew I wasn’t. He knew I wasn’t. And so this stupid game continued, the same game we played every time one of us got hurt.

Bruce brushed past Donna, pausing only to ruffle her hair. She scowled at his back.

“There we are, sleepy-head,” he said. “Glad you finally decided to join us.”

I wanted time alone with my partner and my child. What I didn’t want was a doctor trying to baby me.

“Too pretty for beauty sleep,” I grunted, ignoring him to look at Donna. “Heya, Blueberry. Come give Daddy a hug.” I held my arm open.

She ran to me without hesitation. I folded her against my chest, burying my face against her hair. God, she smelled good. The Cloak unfolded and rippled around us both, caressing the side of my face with a corner of its collar. My throat tightened and my eyes burned. Never mind Stephen crying; I was pretty sure I was about lose it, too. 

I’d almost died. Those terrorists had just batted me around as if they were cats and I was a ball of string. If Petey and Natasha’s S.H.I.E.L.D team hadn’t shown up, they would have killed me.

I was an idiot. Rushing into fights without even _thinking_ about calling for back-up. What the fuck was I doing? It wasn’t just my life that could have been ruined; I had to think about Donna. Stephen knew I couldn’t just step away from a fight, just as I knew that he couldn’t, either – but our daughter was still a kid. She was bright as hell, but she wouldn’t understand if I didn’t come home one day because I’d been too fucking stupid to call for help. 

I’d got older. But I hadn’t really got any wiser.

“Blueberry?” Bruce asked, leaning against the wall, hands in pockets. 

“I’m trying to find a pie name she likes,” I mumbled. The brief spurt of energy I’d felt on waking was wearing off, replaced by low, grinding pain from my leg and shoulder. 

“Pie?”

“You know. Small, delicious, everybody wants a piece. Look, can you give us a minute here?”

“We need to go over your injuries –”

“Broken leg,” I said. “Dislocated shoulder. Numerous cuts and scrapes.” I didn’t need to check out the dressings to know _that_ one. “Bruising. Nothing internal, though, or I’d probably still be in surgery. That about cover it?”

“Bruce,” Natasha said, appearing just outside the doorway, “give the guys a little time, OK? We can debrief when Tony’s ready.”

Bruce looked back over his shoulder. Neither of them spoke, but something seemed to pass between them. There were slow-burn relationships… and then there were these guys.

“Alright,” he said, nodding. “Sorry, man.” 

Now I felt like a douche. “Thanks for patching me up, buddy.”

“Any time.”

~

Bruce left. I gave Nat a grateful nod before she followed after him, leaving me alone with my family. 

Stephen closed the door, sagging against it for a moment, pressing his forehead against the wood. Donna unpeeled herself from my hold and climbed up on the bed, the Cloak returning to coil around her shoulders.

“Is this the part where you do the icky kissing thing?” she asked.

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. Stephen turned, eyes dancing with unexpected humour.

“I think so,” he said, his voice grave but his eyes still amused. “Which means you need to give us a little space, madam.”

“ _Bleurgh._ ” She made a face, scooting back on the bed, leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. Stephen sat in the space she’d occupied. 

“Is that right?” I mused. “You’re gonna kiss me now?”

“Shut up, Tony.” Eyes still sparkling, he leaned forward, his long, slender fingers gently holding the side of my face. His lips brushed across mine. I closed my eyes, desperate for the contact, curling my arm around his waist. 

I wanted more. I wanted everything. Tongue, lips, spit; hell, I wanted it all. But he pulled back, letting me go, leaving me breathing hard.

“Meanie,” I whispered.

His mouth curved in a smirk. “We don’t want to put Donna off her dinner with too much icky grown-up stuff, do we?”

“You are such a…”

“Yes?” He forestalled my expletive. 

“Poopie-head,” I finished, disgruntled.

~

After a little while spent just being a family – talking about Donna’s kindergarten, about how we were going to take her new cat to get checked over by the vet, about the progress she was making on her coding – Stephen used the three-dimensional printer to manufacturer a crutch. Then, with him hovering protectively at my side, I hobbled out to the living area. It was a relief to sink onto the couch.

“Neat cast,” Peter said.

“Did you ask Bruce to make it red?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. I grinned back.

Petey, now in his early twenties, had grown into a lean, rangy young man. We were the same height but where I was stocky, he was wiry. He had a high metabolism – a result of his abilities – and I doubted he’d ever put on much weight. 

“If you boys are done talking about fashion, can we get down to business?” Nat interrupted. 

“Well, I thought we might talk about our nails next,” I said. “I mean mine are in _terrible_ condition, they keep breaking –”

“Tony!”

“I think she’s a poopie-head too,” I said in an aside to Donna. She giggled, then – as Nat glared at us both – covered her mouth with both hands. 

“Doesn’t she have homework or something?” Nat demanded, giving Stephen and me a pointed look. 

“Alright, Shorty, play-time’s over.”

“Aww, Daddy –”

“Sorry, kiddo. Boring grown-ups have to talk shop.”

“You’re not boring!”

“Why don’t you go work on your coding some more?” I suggested. “Fix those little bugs I showed you? In fact, why not run it past your Uncle Bruce? Show him how clever you are.”

Appealing to the vanity of a five-year-old. Wow. I had _all_ the parenting skills.

“OK,” she said, a sunny smile lighting her face. She leaned into me, kissing my cheek. “Feel better soon, Daddy. Come on, Uncle Bruce!” She skipped over to him, holding out her hand, waiting until he took it. 

She and Bruce got along well. He’d always cried off having kids, not wanting to risk passing on his gamma-irradiated genes, but judging by what I’d seen of him around my girl, he’d make a great father. And Natasha – who watched them go, an unguarded look of longing on her face until she realised I’d seen – would make a great mom, no matter what she said to the contrary. 

~

“Alright,” I grunted when Bruce and Donna were gone. “Someone tell me who I have to go punch in the face.”

“You’re in no condition to punch anyone in the face,” Stephen remarked.

“Still got one working arm, buddy.”

“ _Tony –_ ”

“Joking,” I said, holding my hand up. “Well, mostly.” At his forbidding glare, I relented. “Alright, alright, I learned my lesson. I’m not going up against these crackpots by myself again. And before you start, _yes,_ I should have called for back-up. Happy now?”

“Of course I’m not happy,” he growled. “You came home with a broken leg!”

“But at least I came home!” I snapped, anger making me lash out before I could stop myself. “Didn’t spend a week at Kamar-Taj looking at some dusty old books first –”

“Stop it!” 

Peter’s sharp interruption startled us both. We stared at him, uneasy silence falling between us.

“Can you two hear yourselves?” he demanded. “Sebastian Scrivener was _murdered_ , and you’re bickering about your private life?”

“Oh, God.” I slumped back against the couch. “That bitch was telling the truth.” I’d hoped she’d been lying.

“We got there too late.” Peter’s voice was hard and flat. “ _I_ got there too late. But you, you were there first. You could have stopped them.”

“Whoah, hold on there!” I said, holding up my hand. “I was a little busy getting whooped!”

“You let yourself get distracted,” Peter accused. His face was flushed, muscles flexing as he clenched his jaw. “You should have kept your eye on the target –”

“Watch your goddamned mouth,” Stephen flared, striding over to him. “You’re in no position to start criticising a man who’s been fighting for over half your life!”

“Alright, boys, I think we need a time-out,” Natasha said, easing herself between them. I was still reeling, struggling to find a way to refute what Peter had said, trying to tell myself that he was wrong. “Petey, step outside.”

“But –”

“Now.” She kept her voice level, holding his eyes. She didn’t lose her temper. In a room full of people who were already close to the edge, Peter responded to that. He let out a short, hard breath, then stalked out.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Stephen barked, hands on hips as his eyes lingered on the door.

“Dial it back, OK?” Nat said. “A couple of months ago a group of terrorists used his girlfriend against him.” Her tone was still level, conversational. Still controlling the room. “They had hostages in a separate location. Peter tried to rescue them all rather than focus on one or the other. Six civilians were killed.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Stephen dragged a hand down over his face, then turned to give me an accusing glare. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? We could have helped him, offered him support –”

“You weren’t _here!_ ” I blurted, anger, fear, hurt, all congealing in my chest. “ _I_ talked to him! _I_ offered him support! _You_ were off playing interdimensional hooky!” 

He staggered back, sinking into an armchair. He covered his face with both hands.

“I need to find him,” he muttered, pressing his fingers into his eyes. “Apologise or something –”

“Give him a little breathing room.” Nat’s tone had gentled. “I think you and Tony need space, too.” She perched on the arm of his chair. “Why don’t you go check on your daughter?”

“Am I being sent to my room without supper? Alright, alright,” he said at her raised eyebrow. 

He shot me a single look that I couldn’t decipher. Then he left. 

~

“What a goddamned mess,” I said when he was gone. “All I wanted to do was stop Scrivener getting killed. Well, primary mission failed. I suck.”

“You know better than all of us that sometimes missions go south,” Nat said, sitting beside me. “You do everything you can and things still go wrong. Or do I need to remind you about Titan?”

“No need,” I muttered, leaning my face into my hand. “I get the IMAX version playing behind my eyes a couple times a month.”

“You can sit there and feel sorry for yourself.” Her voice hardened, making me look up at her. Finally, the gloves were off. “Or you help us put a stop to the Deep Brotherhood. Your choice.”

“How about I take the second option, with a side order of feeling sorry for myself when I’m off the clock?”

“Atta boy.” She reached over and patted the knee of my unbroken leg, then gave me a sideways look. “But come talk to me when you’re ready, OK? It sounds like you and Stephen…”

“Thank you,” I rasped, not even trying to deny that we were having problems. I was tired of trying to pretend they didn’t exist. 

Tired of trying to pretend that _I_ was the problem. 

~

Nat brought me up to speed. I already knew that Sebastian Scrivener was one of Wakanda’s major vibranium buyers, and I was beginning to suspect he’d been hit first to lure me in – two birds, one really nasty stone. 

What I hadn’t known, despite Shuri’s data file, were the players involved: - F.R.I.D.A.Y’s recording of the fight had provided us with the edge we needed. The sorceress was R’Shendah Chazo, the last survivor of a Wakandan tribal war. She’d fled the country, travelled to Kamar-Taj, and learned the ways of the Mystic Arts. After falling out with the Sorcerer Supreme (which, after knowing how Stephen had begun his own rise to power, I was beginning to believe was a common occurrence), she’d left to travel the world. 

She’d given birth to a son. Haro. The guy with the skull mask. She’d used her power to enhance his speed, but in the end… 

“I hit him in the face,” I admitted, unable to keep Haro’s burned, blackened face out of my memory for long. “Palm repulsor. He was still alive when R’Shendah gated her crew out, but…” I shrugged, helpless, unable – unwilling – to express how much guilt I felt over that.

“You’ve hit people with repulsors before.” Nat gave me a quizzical look, forehead crinkled. 

“I dial the power back when I fight humans. I don’t wanna…” I heaved a ragged sigh. “I’m trying _not_ to kill them. But I… I missed, Nat. It was a full-power blast that was supposed to hit his chest armour. I missed.”

“It’s combat, Tony.” She leaned over and gripped my uninjured shoulder. “It’s not clean. It’s not pretty. Things happen that you don’t intend. You _know_ this.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier to live with.”

“If you want to carry on being Iron Man, you _have_ to learn how to live with it.”

“Then… maybe… it’s time to stop being Iron Man.” I bit the inside of my cheek, shocked at how easy it had been to say those words. 

“Do you think you could do that?”

“I don’t know. I…” My mouth worked but nothing else came out. I felt helpless, stunned by the idea of actually hanging up my metal pants, unable to get my head around the concept.

“Well, don’t go rushing into anything,” she advised. “Think about it. And for God’s sake, talk it over with Stephen. In fact just _talk_ to him, OK? You guys were like this perfect couple, and now…”

“Alright, Oprah,” I scowled. “When I want relationship advice from you, I’ll start quizzing you on why glaciers are moving more quickly than you and Bruce.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“It’s always complicated.” A ghost of a memory came back to me, a snippet of conversation. Had I been talking to her that time, too? “And it hurts. That’s how you know it’s worth it.”


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter make peace.  
> Tony begins to recover.

Now that we’d been able to identify the major players, the game was really about to start. After a brief video call with Shuri we agreed to pool our technological resources together; if R’Shendah showed her face anywhere near a camera, we’d find her. As for Haro… well, he had specific injuries that required specialised attention, so we set up an alert for any hospital with the capabilities to treat that kind of injury. 

There was also the possibility that he’d died. Neither of us wanted to say it, but it hung between us, awkward and uncomfortable. I’d made a lot of mistakes in my career as Iron Man. Sometimes – often – it was hard to see that the good things outweighed the bad.

Whatever R’Shendah did next, she wasn’t doing anything right away. She’d have to lay low. Find a way to care for her son off-grid. That would take time. Even if she used magic, I was pretty sure Stephen would find a way to detect her. 

I needed time, too. To rest… heal… figure out where the hell I stood with Stephen. 

~

Nat left, taking Bruce with her. He seemed pleased as punch that he’d been able to spend time with my daughter, and the soft look on his face said that he was smitten. I understood that. She was easy to love. A parent’s bias, sure, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“Anytime you wanna borrow her,” I told Bruce on the way out, “she’s yours. No keepsies, though, I take all my toys back at the end of the day.”

“Tony, I don’t know about that…” But he didn’t – or couldn’t – hide the longing in his voice. For all his denials, this was a man who desperately wanted a family. And he was standing right next to a woman who wanted, but was unable, to give him that family. 

“Baby-sitting, dude. Nat’s done her fair share. Don’t recall seeing your name on the roster.”

Bruce laughed. “Alright, I’ll admit it, I’d love to. Just hit me up when you’re ready.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “My man. I’ll call. Listen, thanks for patching me up. Appreciate it.”

~

F.R.I.D.A.Y assured me that Donna was keeping her Papa occupied. Wanting to put off talking to Stephen for as long as possible, I went in search of a conversation that would be only slightly better than having teeth pulled.

Peter was up on the roof, crouched on the wall, looking out over the city. Classic Spider-Man pose. He should know – he’d taken enough time-delay shots for his newspaper boss.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He hopped lightly back to my level, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was out of line. I know the risks and I know the stakes. Shouldn’t have just let rip like that.” He shook his head. The flex of muscles in his jaw told me he was fighting a battle inside his own head.

“You were justified.” And here I went, pulling out teeth. “People have accused me of being arrogant and sometimes that’s true. I should have called for back-up as soon as I realised I wasn’t just dealing with terrorists.”

“No, man, it’s OK. I get it, you don’t have to explain. Sometimes we make mistakes.”

He _did_ get it. He always had. “And when we make mistakes people die. We have to find a way to live with that.” I sighed. “Look, I know we talked the other day about maybe going for a picnic or something, but while we’re all here why don’t you stay for dinner? I can throw salad into a bowl with the best of them.”

“I’d like that,” he said, his smile now more relaxed. “And I need to apologise to Stephen.”

~

We went back indoors. Peter apologised while Donna was washing up; it was awkward and stilted, but Stephen accepted it. He gave me a long, measuring look, letting me know that we still had a conversation of our own to get through. Because of course this long, painful day just couldn’t get any goddamned better.

“So,” Peter said as we ate up on the roof, “in all this craziness, I didn’t get a chance to ask about…” He nodded at Donna, still swaddled in her shiny new cowl. “Is that uh, like, the Cloak? Of Levitation?”

I didn’t blame him for his hesitation. Peter – or rather, the interdimensional asshole who’d possessed him – had ripped the Cloak to pieces to stop it from interfering when he’d kidnapped Donna as a baby. He was probably worried the dude was gonna strangle him.

But other than waving a corner of its hem in Peter’s general direction (which could have meant anything from a ‘hello’ to a ‘fuck you too, pal’) the Cloak hadn’t reacted to his presence. It was still wrapped around Donna’s shoulders. 

“Why don’t you tell Peter how you found it, sweetheart?” Stephen suggested. 

“I can tell him?” She sounded anxious.

“Petey’s family,” I said. “You can tell him. Keep it to yourself around everyone else, though.”

Donna, with full parental permission, launched into her story. As she was talking, the cat wandered over, presumably drawn by the scent of food. I slipped it a piece of chicken when no one was looking.

I listened to Donna chatter away, watching Peter interact with the little girl who was his baby sister in everything but blood. I studied the way Stephen’s face softened when he looked at her. Yeah. For all the shitty things that had happened, the things we’d said to each other, this was a perfect little slice of family life. I fought as Iron Man to protect this, but it was a sobering – confusing – _painful_ thought to understand that Iron Man might actually take me away from this forever. 

Donna insisted that Peter put her to bed. He tucked her in with the Cloak clutched in her hands and the cat on her feet, read her another chapter of Harry Potter, and took off. 

Then it was just me and Stephen. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, wasn’t even sure I could have this conversation without sounding like a judgemental, accusing stay-at-home parent. 

But Stephen – for all the significant looks he’d launched my way this evening – didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. He took my hand as soon as the front door had closed and Peter was on his way. When I looked at him, a question already forming, he just shook his head and covered my mouth with his hand.

“I can’t,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Not now. Can we have the night? Just one night?” He hesitated, then added, “Please?”

I understood, and it made my heart ache. He wanted to keep up the illusion that we were OK, that there was nothing wrong with our relationship, that we weren’t on the edge of something that could tear us apart. And God help me, I wanted to keep that illusion too. No matter how much I knew it was going to hurt when it was gone.

I nodded and kissed his palm. He closed his eyes and eased me close against him, mindful of the crutch and my shoulder. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, kissing my forehead.

And I was totally down with that.

~

“I think Donna should stay home until we’ve dealt with the Deep Brotherhood,” Stephen said over breakfast the next morning.

It was a relief to wake up and find him next to me. That made me sad. I shouldn’t have to feel grateful that he’d chosen to stay at home rather than go back to work, but I did, and I was angry at myself for feeling that way. I’d considered waking him up, having the dreaded conversation with him then and there, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do that. My broken leg didn’t hurt too badly, but my shoulder hurt like a bitch, my head was throbbing, and I was thirsty. Adding a stressful, potentially life-altering argument into that mix was not high on my agenda.

“Stay home?” I sipped my coffee. Stephen never usually ate more than a couple slices of toast for breakfast, despite my best efforts over the years to get him to at least try the waffles Donna was devouring. He was just a tea and toast kind of guy. The only way he could get any more British was if he threw on an accent, and I knew from experience – lots of hot, sweaty, ultimately exhausting experience – that his Brit accent was red hot. 

“Just for a while. We could get her a home tutor.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Can I stay at home with both you guys?” she asked, looking from Stephen to me and back again. “Please?”

Her honest plea tore at my heart. I wondered whether I should have had the conversation with Stephen I’d avoided earlier. This wasn’t just bad for me; this was bad for Donna, too. She never knew when to expect her Papa home. 

Hey, Sprout, why don’t you go find your cat?” I suggested. “See if it likes waffles.”

She pouted, realising she was being fobbed off, but too excited at the idea of sharing food with her new pet to kick off. And clearly too excited to even notice the sprout thing. She picked up a waffle, slid off the chair, and ran out of the kitchen.

“Here, kitty!” she called, her voice high enough to make me wince. “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!”

“God help that cat,” I muttered, then turned back to Stephen. “Look, I know you’re scared for her after what happened yesterday, but I think it’s a bad idea to keep her home. It just reinforces the idea that she has to hide away when there’s danger.”

“That’s not such a bad idea.” His lips twitched in what could have been a smile or a grimace.

I rolled my eyes. “No day was ever saved by hiding away.”

“Doesn’t that only apply to people like us?”

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but Donna _is_ people like us. Nanite skin, magic… she could be whatever she wants when she gets older, but you know that scares the hell out of me the most?” He shook his head. “She’s a good kid. She’s going to want to help people. Do we teach her to hide away when the going gets tough?”

“You sound as if you _want_ her to go out and fight.” Low fire burned in his eyes, a sure sign that he was gearing up for an argument. That, and the way his forehead creased, his mouth turned down… man, how did we go from family breakfast into Hurricane Stephen?

“Of course I don’t want her to fight!” Maybe I could be like the chemicals they tried to spray in storm clouds. Hurricane neutraliser. Yeah, right. “The point I’m making is that I want her to know it’s important to get on with your life. You can’t just put everything on hold and hide away in the storm cellar.”

“Storm cellar?” The angry clouds began to dissipate and his lips twitched again, a genuine smile this time. Hey, maybe I really _was_ a hurricane neutraliser. 

“You know what I’m trying to say. That kindergarten has got more spoiled rich kids than the Kardashians. Their security was ridiculous even before we added our own.” Yeah, I had my methods, he had his, so sue us. “She’ll be as safe there as she would here. Though if that Baumgarden kid tries to put paint in her hair again, there may be trouble.”

He let out a long sigh. “Alright. But I think she wants to stay home.”

“That’s ‘cause you brought it up where she can hear, knucklehead.” I slapped the back of his arm. 

“A fair point, well made,” he said, tipping his head.

I looked at him, jaw dropping. “Dude. You know that’s a quote from _Fifty Shades,_ right?”

He looked at me, eyebrows lifting, a smirk creating deep lines around his mouth.

“I do. And apparently you do, too. How interesting.”

Shit! Rumbled. “Just wanted to be like all the cool kids. Nat had a copy hanging around…” The eyebrows went higher. “Alright, so I stole it off Bruce, OK?”

“That, I can believe,” he snickered. 

“So what’s your excuse?”

“What?”

“ _Fifty Shades of Fanfic Rewrite_ doesn’t exactly match up to, what was it you said? An Akkadian primer?” 

A delicate blush spread across his face. I hadn’t seen that for a long time. It was delicious, and suddenly I was hungry for more than breakfast. Maybe I could sprinkle a little of him on my waffles. 

“Wong left it lying around,” he said defensively.

“Yeah? So, no spanking fantasies?”

“If you weren’t injured, I’d show you just what my fantasies involved right now,” he growled. He wasn’t just blushing, it was full-on glow. I could warm my hands on his face.

“Gotta tell you, man, still pretty flexible.” 

He leaned over the table, holding my eyes with his. He was still red as a fire truck but the fire was in his eyes, too.

“You’re stubborn, argumentative, bone-headed –”

“God, yeah. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

He smirked. “If you weren’t injured, I’d bend you over this table and spank your ass.”

The breath caught in my throat. My cock hardened, pushing uncomfortably against my sleep shorts.

“Promise?”

His hand caught my chin, tilting my face up. His kiss was hard and hot.

“Pinkie promise.”

~

We got the kid off to kindergarten, for the first time in… God, I don’t know, months, all three of us travelling together. I could have driven; the car was automatic, and even if it wasn’t, I’d added an interface so that F.R.I.D.A.Y could take control. She drove like a grandma. I’d trust her reactions over my own any day.

But Stephen volunteered to drive. He didn’t look happy about it – there was tension in the line of his shoulders – but I didn’t try to talk him out of it. It was his choice to make and I respected that. 

“Sorry I made you drive the other day,” I said when we were on the way home. “That was a dick thing to do. I… was angry.” OK, not the best place to make an apology, and I wasn’t ready for the conversation to get any deeper, but this was something that had to be said.

“No need to apologise.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I haven’t needed to drive since the accident. It was good to be reminded that sorcerers rely too much on magic.” His eyes slid to me, then immediately snapped back to the road. “We could use that when we fight R’Shendah.” 

“How so?”

“I distract her with magic. Something flashy. Peter or S.H.I.E.L.D drop a concrete block on her head and crush her fucking brains.”

I blinked. “That is… surprisingly specific.”

“She hurt you, Tony.” His jaw clenched hard. “And don’t you dare say ‘occupational hazard’, because I know that.”

“My hero,” I murmured. 

He grinned. “When you’re not in so much pain, I’m going to remind you that you said that.”

“It’s only my shoulder and leg.” I almost put my hand on his knee, but I didn’t want to distract him. “I’ve got a smart mouth and I know how to use it.”

“That’s how most of my fantasies about you start.”

And bam, my erection was back. “We’ve got the place to ourselves…”

“I love the way you think, Stark.”

“I love _you._ ”


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen decides to work from home while Tony recovers, and together they convert a spare room into a study. Donna finally picks a name for his cat. Stephen helps Tony through nightmares following the attack.

An orange-ringed gate opened in my lab. I turned on my revolving stool, swiftly killing my astonished smile – Stephen had gone back to Kamar-Taj after we’d got the kid to kindergarten, and I’d resigned myself to not seeing him for another week. But here he was, strolling through the gate, closing it behind him.

“Who is this stranger I see before me?” I said, easing myself carefully off the stool and reaching for my crutch. 

“The stranger who shares your bed,” he growled, unimpressed at my – admittedly shitty – attempt at humour. “The stranger who needed to know you were OK.” He folded his arms around me. 

The simplest way to stop my idiot mouth from talking was to kiss him, so that was what I did. I broke away only when I shifted my balance and my crutch slipped. I staggered a little and his arms tightened.

“I’m OK,” I murmured.

“You ready for dinner?”

Food was the last thing on my mind right now. Even work had fallen to the bottom of the pile. But the way he was looking at me – grey eyes wide and earnest, uncertain, yearning – there was no way I could deny him anything.

“I could eat,” I said. “We could go out, if you’re tired?”

“No. I want to cook. You name it, you got it.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to offer.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Cheeseburgers, then?”

I laughed. “You know me too well. And don’t skimp on the mayo this time, you cheap bastard.” 

“If you’d just switch to the light –”

“God, I’m living with a guy who wants me to eat _light mayo,_ ” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’ll be trying to switch us to low-fat cheese next.”

“Well, as a doctor –”

“Do _not_ pull that shit with me.” I gave him a fleeting peck on the lips to take the sting out of my words. “I love your burgers. Now go feed us, you sexy beast.”

~

It didn’t take him long to rustle up a meal: - he cheated, using his magical skills to set things in motion, _Fantasia_ style. While he worked I looked for Donna, making sure she finished up what she was doing (tying a yellow ribbon around the cat’s neck) and sent her to wash her hands. Somehow, by the time we’d got back to the kitchen, twenty minutes had elapsed and the cat had ‘lost’ the stupid ribbon. Kids – the ultimate way to make every single fucking task five times longer than it had to be.

But it did mean that not only had Stephen made the burgers, they were well on their way to being cooked. 

“I thought I might work from home for a few weeks,” Stephen announced as he was slicing tomatoes. “Help out around the place while your leg heals. Make sure you don’t go off and save the world while I’m not here.”

I gaped, then quickly shut my mouth, glad that Donna was busy drawing at the table and not paying either of us the slightest bit of attention. Stephen had his back to me, arms moving in slow rhythm as he prepared the salad. 

“I’d like that,” I said, getting my scrambled brains together so that I could answer. “And I’m kinda feeling the urge to go save the day, so, ya know…”

He turned around and pointed the knife at me. “Don’t you dare.”

“Yes, Mom.” I stuck my tongue out. “So where’re you going to work? You need some lab space or something?” I couldn’t picture him cracking open an ancient, musty tome anywhere in my modern laboratory. The need to have ‘that conversation’ receded in my head; he’d chosen to stay home, so that meant things were getting better, right? He was choosing to be with us rather than at Kamar-Taj. I held on to that.

“We could maybe clear out the spare bedroom?” he suggested.

“Works for me.” 

He’d said ‘we’ rather than ‘I’. I liked that.

~

“…for the last time, the desk needs to go over _here,_ ” Stephen said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m telling you, you put it near the window like that, you’ll get sunlight reflected off your laptop,” I grumbled.

I’d spent the last twenty minutes sat on a stool. Stephen had summoned it when it became apparent our little furniture-moving-fest was going to be more than a five minute job. He hadn’t asked if I’d needed to sit, but he hadn’t needed to – my leg had already started throbbing like a bitch, and he must have seen that on my face.

“You’re assuming I’ll be using a laptop,” he said. “I’ll have scrolls and books. I want natural daylight to read by for as long as it lasts.”

“See, there’s this little thing called ‘electric light’…”

“No one likes a smart-ass.”

“You do.”

He smiled. “Very much. Though every now and again I question my judgement.” He paced toward me, bending to brush a kiss across my forehead. “Then I remember that charity is good for the soul.”

I grabbed the front of his tunic, keeping him there, and kissed him hard. It took him by surprise – my tongue was in his mouth before he could react, but when he did, he returned the kiss with equal force.

“Charity, my ass,” I snapped. We pulled back, both panting. 

“Your ass is most definitely involved.” His voice was a rough, sexy growl in my ear. “And your mouth. Your cock.” He kissed me again. My head was spinning. “You know what? The new study can wait till morning.”

“The desk,” I croaked. “We need to test the desk.”

“Your leg…”

“Better get me on me back then.”

His wordless growl was the only answer I needed.

~

“You guys finished in there?” I asked a week or so later, poking my head around the study door. Stephen and Wong were standing at the desk, a scroll spread out between them, the parchment weighed down with small lead weights.

“No,” Stephen said without looking up. “This text is proving difficult to translate.” He sounded aggravated, as if he took his lack of progress as a personal insult. Knowing him, he probably did. 

“How about you take a break for dinner?”

“I’d planned to work through –” 

Wong nudged him.

“ – but a break is an excellent idea.” Stephen straightened, working his fingers into the small of his back. 

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I asked Wong. 

“I can get take-out,” he suggested.

Stephen stretched his arms out. “Nonsense. I’ll cook.” He glanced at me, his eyes warm, his smile suggestive. Yeah. He had to be reminded to take breaks, to get something to eat, even to sleep sometimes, but I _definitely_ liked having him home.

~

“…and breathe out. Just like that. Hold it. Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart, no peeking.”

I stood on the balcony overlooking the open-plan living area, leaning against the railing, watching Stephen and Donna below. They sat cross-legged, facing each other. Backs straight. Hands on knees. He worked with her every day now, setting aside fifteen or twenty minutes – usually close to her bedtime – to practise baby meditation. 

Donna loved having her Papa home, loved the security of knowing he’d be around when she got back from kindergarten, even that he might drop her off or collect her sometimes. Hell, _I_ loved the security of knowing we’d go to sleep in the same bed and wake up right next to each other. Her mood was improving. I’d even overheard him telling her a story that sounded like a lesson about morals, underneath all the cutesy forest animals.

“Breathe in. That’s it. What do you see behind your eyelids?”

“It’s all golden, Papa. Like… like a net or something?” She sounded uncertain.

“That’s your energy. Your magic.” He sounded pleased. “Your chi.”

“Cheese.” She giggled, eyes still closed.

“ _Chi._ ” He smiled, shaking his head. Never mind her peeking – he cracked an eyelid, looking at her, then at me. “Say it again, honey.”

“Chi,” she repeated obediently.

It was a sweet little scene, though it made me uneasy to watch them like this. Even though I made a point of doing it a couple times a week. These were the times when she was _his_ daughter. Not mine. Not even ours. I knew it was necessary; she had to learn how to control her magic, to learn what she was capable of, and I’d never begrudge her that. But the connection they had… I’d never admit that it made me jealous. He’d just waltzed back in after all his absences and taken up his parenting role again. That was what I wanted – of course it was – but still… I guess I was still just the same mess of insecurities I’d always been, with a whole bunch of new ones thrown in for good measure.

~

“I want to call her Binky.”

“Say what, D?”

“The cat, Daddy.” Donna climbed into my lap, pushing my hand – the hand holding my cell phone, on which I’d been reading the headlines – out of her way.

“Hey, I was reading that.” I locked the phone and tossed it onto the table. “What about the cat?” It occurred to me that we still hadn’t got around to taking it to the vet. It seemed healthy enough, ate like a horse, did its business in the litter tray.

“I want to call her Binky.”

That made me blink. “OK… what makes you think it’s a she?” 

“She looks like a girl. Can’t you see, Daddy?”

“I can honestly say,” I said, adjusting Donna’s position so it was more comfortable for both of us, “that I have no idea how you figured that one out.” My leg was healing, aided by a few experimental treatments suggested by Bruce, but it wasn’t there yet. And on rainy days – like today – the ache spread all the way up my thigh.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y told me about it.” She rolled her eyes in a way that was cute now but was going to drive me bat-shit crazy in just a few months... weeks… hell, it was already driving me crazy. “Girl cats have pointier faces than boy cats.”

“Oh, _F.R.I.D.A.Y_ told you.” It was my turn to roll my eyes. No-one had eye-game like mine. “Guess it must be true then, and F.R.I.D.A.Y’s some kind of cat-whisperer. See if she can get you to stop Binky sleeping on your bed.” And while she was at it she could have a go at persuading the Cloak not to curl up on the floor like a guard dog. Then turn water into wine, create world peace, and get that old red wine stain out of Stephen’s pants.

Donna giggled. “I like having Binky with me. She sleeps on my feet.”

“Honey, you want warm feet, just put on some socks. That’s kind of what they’re for.”

“I don’t need bed socks. I’ve got Binky.”

The logic of a five-year-old. There was no way around shit like that. 

~

I couldn’t move. I was watching Haro’s skull-mask burn, watching it catch fire and turn the bleach-white first brown, then black. Watched it incinerate.

Watched the flesh beneath blacken. Crispy. Bubbling.

Heard him yelling.

Screaming. Clawing at his face –

I jerked awake, slapping the blankets aside, for a moment feeling heat on my own skin. Feeling the burn, the terrible pain, felt my teeth cracking –

“…it’s OK, Tony, it’s OK...” Stephen’s voice finally penetrated the awful screaming in my head. The feel of his arms around me drove the burning heat away, made the phantom pain vanish. I slumped against him.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The blanket was cold with it. I was ashamed. Every time I woke up from one of these fucking nightmares, I was ashamed. I wasn’t Iron Man. I was just a scarred, scared asshole who could never make up for the mistakes I’d made. 

Stephen’s lips pressed against my forehead. Warm. Dry. A little cracked because he hadn’t been using the lip balm Donna had bought for his last birthday. 

“It’s OK,” he whispered again. “I love you.”

“How?” I demanded. “When I’m like this… _how?_ ” God, why was I so fucking weak?

“ _Because_ you’re like this.” He drew back, holding my sweaty face in his hands. I couldn’t see him in the dark, but the whites of his eyes flashed just enough for me to follow. “Beneath the suit you’re human being. You’re a guy. You love. You hurt. You suffer guilt just like the rest of us.” He kissed my forehead, my cheek, my mouth. “Now let’s get these sheets changed.”

It didn’t matter that I didn’t feel like Iron Man when I had nightmares like these. Didn’t matter that I was just a man. Because when Stephen comforted me, when he got me through the nights, he wasn’t the Sorcerer Supreme. 

He was just Stephen. And I was just Tony.


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wants to go to a Charity Ball. Due to the security risk, Stephen forbids it; they row, and Tony declares that they need to talk. But Stephen doesn't come home. Wong later confirms that he's at Kamar-Taj, meditating. A hurting Tony decides that, yes, he will go to the Ball.

“Boss, the Symposium Charity Ball is tonight,” F.R.I.D.A.Y announced one morning over breakfast.

“Oh, damn, that’s tonight?”

“Language,” Stephen said mildly, head buried in a broadsheet.

“Daddy, what’s a symposium?” Donna asked. The Cloak had taken up its customary position wrapped around her shoulders. They were going to have problems come the summer, but that was something they’d have to work out between themselves.

“A symposium is a meeting of boring old rich guys,” I drawled, dropping a titbit of bacon to Binky. 

“But you’re not a boring old rich guy,” she said, mashing her fork into her waffles. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stephen drawled, turning a page. “Daddy’s _pretty_ old.” He met my eyes over the top of the paper.

“Guess that makes you my toy boy, huh?” I teased right back. He grimaced, folded his newspaper, and put it beside his plate.

“Sweetheart,” he said to Donna, “a symposium is where a group of people get together to talk about something. In this case, it’s one of the charities Daddy supports.” 

“Aaaaand?” I drawled.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Also where a bunch of old guys in Greece got together to drink and gossip.”

“See? You should just listen to your Daddy, I’ve got all the answers.”

“He _wishes_ he had all the answers.”

Donna giggled. “He knows all kinds of things!”

“Hey, I know all kinds of things, too!”

“Twelve different types of tea,” I said in a faux-whispered aside. “How to cook with yak butter.” Donna stuck her tongue out, making a face. I didn’t blame her – yak butter was gross.

Stephen leaned back in his seat. “Oh, I suppose you know how to perform neurosurgery, yes? And you can tell me the names of all the chakras?”

“Picking through your squirrelly head counts as neurosurgery, right?” I asked. “As for the chakras… there’s Pikachu, Bulbasaur… uh… Jigglypuff, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ronald Reagan, and the Pope. That about covers it, right?”

Donna lost it, burying her face in her arms on the table, shoulders shaking as she laughed. 

“Oh, you totally nailed it,” Stephen said. “You’re a regular fount of all knowledge. You’re also not going to the ball.”

“I’m sorry, what-now?” I stuck a finger in my ear and wriggled it around. “That sounded like you just tried to tell me what to do.”

And just like that, we were done joking. “Time to go get ready for school,” Stephen said to Donna. 

She looked from him to me, her humour fading. I felt like a heel. But this wasn’t just my fault. 

“Come on, Binky,” she said, slipping out of her chair and leaving the kitchen. The cat padded after her. “You can watch me clean my teeth.” The Cloak rippled around her shoulders, reacting to the tension, trying to comfort her. Hell. It should be _me_ comforting her.

_Us._ I meant us. Me and Stephen. That was what couples did, right, when their kid was upset?

Shit. When had I stopped thinking of him and me as… well… _us?_

“Please don’t argue about this, Tony.” His sounded tense. “It’s too dangerous –”

“I’m not arguing,” I interrupted. “I’m going.”

“You’re the goddamned key speaker! You’re making yourself a target!”

I pushed my empty plate aside. “Oh, and I’ve not made myself a target every single fucking day since Sebastian Scrivener was murdered?” There’d been no credible leads on R’Shendah or the Deep Brotherhood, but there’d also been no further activities. 

“That was different –”

“How? Just exactly how was anything we did different to what I’m going to do tonight? We took Donna to kindergarten, we picked her up. No attacks.”

“It just was, OK?”

“Not good enough!” I said furiously. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do and you don’t get to be fucking mysterious. This is _me,_ Stephen! If you can’t tell me your goddamned secrets, why am I even here?”

The words hung in the air between us. Too late to take them back. Maybe… maybe they’d needed to be spoken.

“This is your home,” he said into the silence. “That’s why you’re here.”

“It’s your home too.” Then, because I couldn’t help myself – because I just couldn’t stop the words coming out of my mouth – I added, “When you bother to _come_ home, that is.” He flinched. “The last couple of weeks doesn’t make up for… God… _months._ ”

“I’ll take Donna to school,” he said tonelessly, standing, long legs taking him away from the table.

“You do that,” I growled.

When he was gone I grabbed his newspaper and flung it across the room, trying to ignore the way frustration tightened my throat, the way my eyes stung. 

We couldn’t even have a proper argument without him leaving.

~

I picked up his stupid broadsheet and tidied the breakfast things while Donna was getting ready for school. When she came back, Stephen hovered in the doorway. He looked miserable. 

Good. He _should_ be miserable.

“Daddy,” Donna whispered in my ear as I crouched to hug her goodbye, “are you and Papa OK?”

My heart didn’t just clench, it tore. If – when? – things really imploded between us, it was our daughter who was going to suffer the worst. I’d do anything, absolutely anything, to prevent that. Eating humble pie was a good place to start.

“Sure we’re OK, honey. Why don’t you go wait downstairs? Say goodbye to the Cloak?”

The Cloak of Levitation – just as sensitive to emotional undercurrents as Donna – reached out with a corner of its collar and stroked my face. Donna gave me one last worried look, glanced at Stephen, then walked slowly out of the room.

“Get in here, Papa Bear,” I sighed, putting my hands on my hips.

Stephen cautiously entered the room. 

“Sorry I yelled,” I muttered.

His eyes widened, mouth opening in surprise. Neither of us were good at apologies. 

“Sorry I over-reacted,” he admitted. 

“Can we, uh…” I cleared my throat. “Can we talk, when you get back?”

His eyes widened further before he shut his emotions down, a neutral expression covering his face. He nodded, turned, and left.

~

But he didn’t come back.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” I asked, ten minutes after the time he should have returned, “can you locate Stephen?” If he’d been caught up in an attack, I’d suit up and go after him, and never mind the fact that my leg was still broken. My shoulder wasn’t great but at least I had some movement in it. 

“He’s currently in the New York Sanctum, boss.”

Oh my God. He went back to _work._ He knew we needed to talk, and he fucking went back to _work._

“Maybe… maybe he just had to go pick something up,” I said, already knowing the truth. He was too chicken-shit to face up to his responsibilities. 

But I loved him and I was sure – at least, I hoped… I mean I really, _really_ hoped – that he still loved me. So I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. I could be patient. 

I could wait.

~

He hadn’t returned by lunchtime. I still hadn’t quite given up hope. Maybe he’d got caught up with something, some arcane business I wouldn’t understand. Mid-afternoon came around, and still no show. I collected Donna from kindergarten.

“Where’s Papa?” she asked as we walked back to the car.

“He had to work, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

I gave her a sideways look. There was a whole lot of feeling packed into that one tiny word. 

“Are you going to the symposium?” she asked, struggling a little with the long word. 

“Yup.” It hardly seemed worth fighting with Stephen about this now, but it had become a point of contention, and I was pretty sure – in the hollow space inside my heart where our relationship was crumbling – that this would be the thing that finally drove us apart, one way or another. Because he didn’t have the right to tell me what to do. If he’d _asked_ me not to go, I would have considered. Now? Come hell or high water, I was going.

“Are _you_ coming home?” she asked as we reached the car.

Oh, God. Another crack splintered across my heart. “Of course. I’ll always come home to you.”

Unless R’Shendah killed me. Unless one of a dozen other threats finally caught up to me. Was it wrong to lie to your kid if it protected her peace of mind?

~

I cracked late in the afternoon. Donna was off playing with Binky and the Cloak, and I’d spent the last hour sat in the kitchen, sipping my now-cold coffee. Trying to work up the courage to call Stephen.

~

In the end I chickened out and called Wong.

“Just tell me one thing,” I said, before he’d even had a chance to speak. “Is he off fighting some interdimensional terror?”

“No,” Wong said, sighing. “He’s… well, he’s meditating.”

“Did he say why?”

“I’m his librarian, not his keeper.”

“Could have just said ‘no’, Wong.” 

I hung up without saying goodbye. Everything was crumbling around me. I’d told him we needed to talk; he’d decided – for whatever reason – that he didn’t want to. Fine, if he wanted to be that way, I’d let him have tonight. Tomorrow I was going to march right up to the doors of the New York Sanctum and _make_ him talk. If he ran off to Kamar-Taj I’d damned well follow him there. Donna needed her Papa in her life and I… well, I needed Stephen in mine.

But tonight? Cinderella was going to the fucking ball.

~

“Hey, Bruce,” I said a few minutes later when the call had connected. The housekeeper had left lasagne for Donna, and I’d just shoved it in the oven to heat up. “Remember we had that conversation the other day where you said you’d babysit?”

“I don’t remember that conversation, no. I’m pretty sure you were trying to say it was Nat’s turn –”

“Nice try, buddy. Whatever your mouth was saying, your eyes were saying all kinds of something else. You free tonight?”

“You going somewhere nice with Stephen?”

“I’m going somewhere nice. He decided he’d rather work. Look, can you babysit or not?”

“Tony, I don’t know how to interact with a little kid –”

“Treat ‘em like tiny grown-ups,” I said. “Pretty sure she’s brighter than most adults I know, anyway. If you’re really scared, why don’t you call Nat? She can help watch my terrifying five-year-old daughter.”

“You know what, I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Kids _are_ scary.”

“You got nothing to worry about. I’ll drop her off after she’s eaten, OK?”

“There’s no way I can get out of this, is there?”

“Not if you want to hold on to your man card, no. Chicken out of this and I’ll rag on you for the rest of your life.”

“If I said I hated you would it make you go away?”

“Gosh, no. That’ll just make me drop the kid off even earlier.”

“Am I even getting some kind of payment out of this?”

“The gift of my daughter’s presence,” I said, and hung up.

~

“I want to go to the symposium.” Donna stood on her bed, arms crossed, an ominous frown on her face. 

“It’s for grown-ups, sweetie,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Come on, I gotta drop you off with your Uncle Bruce –”

“But you look so smart!” Around her shoulders, the Cloak rippled, reacting to her distress. “I want to look smart too!”

I glanced down at my tux. I _did_ do evening wear remarkably well.

“Tell you what,” I said, crouching down so that I was looking up at her. “How about we have our own symposium at the weekend? You wouldn’t enjoy tonight’s, it’ll be really boring. But we can make our own, just you and me and the Cloak. I’ll dress up, we can get you something nice to wear, maybe something sparkly for the cat.”

“What about Papa?” she asked, the frown turning to a pout. “I want him there too!”

I bit my tongue hard. “Can’t promise he’ll be around, Strawberry Shortcake. He had to go back to work.”

Her bottom lip wobbled. “But he’s been working from home. Why can’t he do that all the time?”

Cushion the blow, cushion the blow, cushion the blow…

“He took time off to look after me,” I lied. “You know, fetch and carry, that kind of thing.” I twirled my crutch around. “Now I’m more or less mobile again, I don’t need his help so much.”

“But your arm’s still in a sling most of the time.”

My shoulder was doing OK – it would still be another week or two before it was up to full operational readiness – but it was healed enough that it could go a couple days without any support.

“I have F.R.I.D.A.Y,” I said. “She’s good for pretty much whatever your Papa could do.” Apart from the really important things, like loving me, telling me the truth about how he felt, that kind of thing. “Now come on. If you want, you can wear your Princess Elsa dress to Uncle Bruce’s. I think Auntie Nat’s gonna be there too, maybe you can play dress-up together.”

Being allowed to wear her _Frozen_ outfit didn’t produce the immediate smile I’d hoped it would, but it did get her down off the bed. It still amazed me that more than a decade after the film came out, it was still as popular as it had ever been, spawning a host of less-successful sequels. Cult classic, thy name is _‘Let It Go’._

~

I got the kid off to Bruce’s place. He led her inside, but Nat caught me at the door, grabbing my wrist before I could leave.

“You look like your dog just died,” she said. “Something happened between you and Stephen?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, trying for a careless shrug, “our relationship is falling apart and he’d rather stay at the Sanctum than come home and talk. The usual.”

She drew me into a hug before I could pull away. I leaned into her, drawing strength from her quiet presence. 

“Why aren’t you there now?” she murmured in my ear.

“Stubbornness, mostly,” I admitted. “Charity ball. He told me I couldn’t go. I… well, I reacted badly.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You’re as bad as each other.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“You got time to talk about it?”

“Later, maybe, when I come pick up the sprat –”

“She can stay with us overnight,” Nat interrupted. “You need to fix things.”

I stared at her, resentment boiling up inside me. “Right. Like _I’m_ the one who’s at fault here?”

“Hey, no, Tony, I didn’t mean it that way –”

“What _do_ you mean?”

“You’re both behaving like little kids. Stephen’s acting like he doesn’t want to get into trouble for playing hooky so much. You’re doing something you’ve been told not to do. Compromises go both ways, and neither of you have done much of that.”

“I think I’ve compromised too much,” I said, my resentment melting away into something sad and lonely. “He spends days away from home. I’ve never bugged him about it. Alright, so I haven’t bugged him _much,_ ” I added, at Nat’s raised eyebrow.

“And all those hard times you gave him, did you ever actually ask _why_ he was spending so much time away?”

I let out a hard breath. “No. I guess… I guess I was just frightened to hear the answer.”

“Make sure you ask. His answer might actually surprise you.”


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Ball, Tony runs in to Pepper; for a moment he's distracted by memories of how they'd once been, until he remembers all the reasons their relationships failed.  
> Stephen makes an appearance and Pepper leaves. Stephen and Tony talk but it soon devolves into yet another row, which is only interrupted when the Ball is interrupted by terrorists.

The Symposium Charity Ball was being held in an upstate New York mansion. I’d been to enough of these types of events that they’d blended together, and I had to keep an eye on the banners just to remember where I was. You saw one, you saw ‘em all – same banquet hall, same bright young things in black and white carrying champagne and canapes on trays, same stuffy old people, same Pepper –

My brain crashed and did a hard re-set. My feet were moving before I realised what they were doing. By the time I had enough control left to stop them I was right next to her. She was talking with an older woman, a ghastly socialite I vaguely recognised from previous events.

“Miss Potts,” I interrupted. “Ravishing, as usual.”

They broke off their conversation. The old dame gave me a haughty look, but I was already tuning her out, fixing on Pepper’s face. We could have gone back to a time before I’d had Donna, before I’d fought against Thanos. When it had just been me and Peps against the world.

She was smiling, fair skin flushed, strawberry-blonde hair piled on top of her head. It was a classy look that exposed the long, elegant line of her neck.

“Tony.” Her smile faded, then rallied, becoming more fixed. False. Her society smile. “It’s, uh, it’s… been a while.”

“You’re looking well,” I said. She was wearing royal blue, form-fitting dress that stopped a couple inches above her knees. Demure, yet sexy. She’d always been good at that kind of look. 

“I… wish I could say the same,” she said, looking pointedly at my crutch.

“Oh, this old thing?” Casual. I could do casual. “You know how it is, you get in one little fight with a rogue sorceress and she breaks your leg. Tell me, what _is_ a guy to do?”

“A sorceress. Huh.”

“Oh. I’m boring. Am I boring you? I’m boring you, right?” I put my hand on her shoulder, discreetly trying to angle her away from the disapproving battle-axe she’d been talking to, but she just as discreetly gave me the brush-off. 

“I wouldn’t say you’re boring me,” she said. “But let’s just say… I don’t move in those kinds of circles anymore.”

Given how we’d parted the last time we met, this was probably the politest conversation we’d ever have. 

“Well, it was nice to see you again.” I had no idea what lingering sense of masochism had brought me over here, but it was time to leave before she started calling me names. “But there’s a canape over there with my name on it, so…” I stuck a thumb over my shoulder, indicating the nearest server. 

“Sure, sure. Maybe we can, uh, grab a coffee one day?” Her smile seemed hopeful, almost innocent. Right… and maybe I was just projecting.

I looked at her. She looked back. Wide blue eyes, soft pink lips… yeah, I remembered what it was like to be with her. The sex had been good. More than good. The companionship…

And there my proto-fantasy died. The companionship had been great, in the beginning, but there were so many things about me that Pepper had never understood. In the end they hadn’t just driven us apart, they’d severed us as if we’d never been together. 

“I think maybe that ship’s sailed,” I said with a regretful smile. “Sailed, got a hole in the hull, sunk without trace.” Stephen understood me so well – all the little broken parts, the parts he’d fixed, that Donna’s existence had fixed – that I couldn’t imagine my life any other way. Which is why the idea of talking to Stephen, _really_ talking, trying to thrash out whatever it was that was eating him, scared me so badly. 

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Alright then. Catch you ‘round.”

“I highly doubt that,” I heard Stephen say behind me.

~

I turned – careful not to lose my balance as I spun on one foot, keeping my broken leg braced with the crutch – and tried not to gawp.

“Stephen.” Christ _almighty,_ in that fitted tux he looked fucking delicious. “Glad you finally caught up.” As if he’d done nothing more extraordinary than find somewhere to park the car, rather than appearing out of nowhere.

His arm snaked around my waist. He leaned in close, brushing his lips across my cheek. I couldn’t help it – I turned my face to his, catching his mouth with mine, hooking my arm around his shoulders. His tongue pushed between my lips and I let him in, deepening the kiss. It was only Pepper’s deliberate cough that brought me back to reality.

Stephen wasn’t always into public displays of affection. The most he usually allowed was hand-holding. This, now, was the equivalent of a dog marking its territory.

And did I mind? Fuck no. 

“Pepper, this is my partner, Stephen. Doctor Stephen Strange.”

“Miss Potts.” He nodded at her. He didn’t hold out his hand to shake.

“Doctor Strange.” Her gaze was hard and calculating. “Oh, right… former neurosurgeon, right? I remember that awful crash, it was all across the news.”

I gave her a single resentful look, looking down to hide whatever my eyes were putting out. Only the tightening of Stephen’s arm around my waist stopped me speaking.

“That’s correct,” he said, his tone mild. “While it’s true the accident put an end to my career in surgery, let’s just say I… move in the same circles as Tony now.” Oh my God. He’d heard at least part of our conversation. “Word is that Stark Industries isn’t doing so well these days?”

I bit my tongue. I didn’t know whether I should laugh, try to defend Pepper, or prepare for a massive confrontation. In the end I settled for keeping my mouth shut.

“The company’s as strong as it ever was.” Pepper’s tone was flat, bordering on hostile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned and walked away. There was definitely extra swing in her hips. With a single suspicious look, her socialite dame buddy sashayed after her, leaving us in relative privacy. 

~

Stephen didn’t let me go, his arm still around my waist, and I made no move to let him go either. There were so many things to say I didn’t even know where to start.

“You’re here,” I blurted.

He hesitated. Nodded. “Yes.” I guess he didn’t know what to say, either.

“Is the company really in trouble?” If I could fix on one thing, maybe I could ease us into what we really needed to talk about.

“You didn’t know.” It was a statement, not a question, as his eyes played across my face. I felt awkward, tongue-tied. The great Tony Stark – lost for words, confidence gone, literally on the back foot as I let most of my weight rest on my good leg. 

“I don’t follow it anymore.” Pepper, the company, my old properties… all those things were my past. Stephen and Donna were my present. 

I looked at him, silent, hurting, still unsure what to say. He was also my future. If I could just keep hold of him.

But he’d lapsed into silence, too, and for several long seconds we just stared at each other. One of us was going to have to speak. 

I still didn’t know what to say. The conversation we really needed to have couldn’t be had here, in a room full of other people.

Oh, fuck it. I didn’t need speech to convey how I was feeling right now. I curled my free hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.

It was slow. Searching. Where I’d opened quickly to his insistent tongue before, I now had to coax a way between his lips. When he finally parted them he gasped, and it was if the dam gates had burst – he kissed me deeply, hungrily, plundering my mouth. Nothing slow or searching anymore, but a combination of taking and giving, switching back and forth, sharing something vital between us. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my mouth.

He was going to have to work a lot harder than that. “For what?”

“God, everything. And I mean everything. I know Wong told you I spent today meditating, but he didn’t say why –”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter –” Just having his apology was enough, knowing that he understood we were in trouble and wanted to put things right.

“It does.” His tone was implacable. “I was remembering all the reasons why I fell in love with you.”

Pain made me wrench my eyes away from his face. If he’d had to _remember_ those reasons, it meant he’d _forgotten_ them.

“Shit.” His fingers found my chin, tilting my face back up. “I’m sorry, that sounded… I didn’t mean it to sound that way –”

“Pretty much only one way it can sound,” I rasped, yanking my chin away. 

“I meant I was getting my head back to where we were at the beginning,” he tried again, desperation creeping into his voice. “Before things got complicated –”

“I’m sorry our relationship seems so complicated to you,” I said, interrupting yet again. “From where I’m standing, it seems real simple. Your job’s more important than me and Donna.”

His eyes widened. “That’s not –” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Let me take you home, Tony. I want to talk.”

“Oh, _now_ you wanna talk?” I was being bitchy, I knew I was being bitchy, but I couldn’t help it. “What about this morning, when you said you’d come home and talk? Or, hey, here’s an idea, maybe you just don’t like me talking to Pepper –”

“Damn _right_ I don’t like you talking to Potts,” he growled, glaring at me with storm-filled eyes.

“Is that why you’re here?” I demanded, letting him go, trying to shove him away. He didn’t budge, arm clenching around my waist. “You knew Pepper would be here and, what? You didn’t trust me not to go running back to her?” I stomped the crutch on the floor. “Well, limping back, anyway.” Way to ruin your rant, Tony, well done. 

“I had no idea she’d be here! I just wanted to see you!”

“You didn’t say ‘I trust you’,” I said, feeling the fight drain out of me.

“What?”

“I just said you didn’t trust me. You didn’t deny it.”

“Of course I trust you!”

I tried to push him away again. He still didn’t let me go.

“You always worried I’d try to patch things up with her again, didn’t you?” I accused. This was running out of control but I couldn’t stop myself. “That’s the main reason you didn’t want me to move back to New York after Donna was born. You’d have been happier if I’d stayed in Wakanda!”

“You’re being paranoid –”

“ _I’m_ being paranoid?” People were turning around, but I didn’t care. “You’re the one who stalked me here just because you don’t trust me!”

“You were talking to that bitch just now!” He looked around; finally, he let me go, taking a step back. The loss of his warmth almost felt like a blow and I leaned hard on the crutch. “Look, can we not do this right now?” he groaned. “Let’s go home –”

The rapid rattle of gunfire outside plunged the room into silence.

~

An alarm went off. The guests erupted with panic, talking, shouting to be heard over one another. Some of the woman (and a couple of the guys) screamed, huddling together. Security shutters descended over the ceiling-high windows.

“Gate us outside,” I said, pressing and holding a button on my watch.

“Tony, your leg –”

“My leg will be fine in the suit!” I snapped as nanites streamed out of the watch – a back-up storage device when I wasn’t wearing the ARC reactor – and began encasing my body in the latest iteration of my Iron Man armour. “If we blast out through the security shutters we’re leaving a hole for whatever’s outside to get in!”

He couldn’t argue that logic, though I could see in his eyes that he wanted to try. Goddam him. The things that made us so good together were also the things that were driving us apart. But he drew his hands back and created a gate, the orange-ringed portal opening beside us leading directly to the long driveway outside the house.

We ran through together. Stephen’s clothes rippled as we moved; when I glanced across, his tux was gone, replaced by his more usual tunic, trousers and the Coat of Possibilities. 

My leg let out a warning ache. I ignored it. 

“System report, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” I hadn’t had to use the back-up suit for a long time. 

“All systems running at one hundred per cent optimisation, boss.”

“Excellent. Now let’s go hit something.”

~

I took to the air, performing an aerial survey of the scene. The Coat of Possibilities was no Cloak, but it gave Stephen the power of flight and he used it now, soaring across to a position on the other side of the building.

“Ten armed individuals on this side.” I heard his voice in my ear. He must be using a communication spell. 

“I clock eight… ten… an even dozen.” I squinted and the HUD zoomed in. “Deep Brotherhood, unless these guys went to the same warehouse sale.”

“R’Shendah is not here.” He sounded frustrated. I didn’t blame him; I had a score to settle, too. I didn’t question how he knew she wasn’t here – maybe his sorcerer senses weren’t tingling, or there was no disturbance in the force, or… fuck, I don’t know.

“Maybe we can send her a ‘sorry you missed the party’ card,” I said, aiming a palm repulsor at the nearest cluster of terrorists. They hadn’t noticed us yet. 

I set phasers to stun and started working out my angst. Who needed a relationship counsellor?

~

The battle was short and over too soon. I was disappointed about that. It was fucked up to think that way – believe me, I knew _exactly_ how fucked up that was – but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to fight. I wanted to punch people until I stopped hurting inside.

The wail of police sirens sounded in the distance. I landed in front of the house, faceplate sliding back as Stephen landed beside me. He didn’t look as if he’d just been fighting. Not a hair out of place.

“Are you alright?” he asked, reaching for me. He checked the movement but not before I’d seen. Conversely, that made me mad.

“I’m fine.”

“Tony…”

“I said I’m fine!” If you could call deep, throbbing pain that travelled from my toes to my hip ‘fine’, that was. “You?” God, I hated myself. I was mad at him. I didn’t care if he was OK.

“I’m… fine.” His eyes clouded over. “Does something about this feel odd to you?”

“Well, it was over kinda quick.”

“Apart from that.”

His disquiet was catching. Putting my anger aside – with an effort – I really thought about it.

“These are Deep Brotherhood goons,” I said. “But R’Shendah’s not here. Why? We’re juicy targets. They must be here for us, I mean I didn’t notice any of Shuri’s other buyers back inside.” I frowned. “It’s possible they didn’t know you’d be here. Maybe they thought they had enough guys.”

But that didn’t feel right. Without R’Shendah and her enhanced son to play with, I could make short work of henchman with machine guns and robes. That kind of thing was chicken feed. But the sorceress wasn’t here…

“Oh, no, no, no,” I said, snapping my visor shut. “Open a gate to Bruce’s place! This is a fucking diversion!”


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Stephen fight R'Shendah and Haro.  
> Binky makes an unexpected contribution.

Bruce was a guy who liked privacy. He lived outside the city, in the middle of his own piece of land. Trees. Big garden. A little lake.

The trees were on fire. Steam rose over the lake. Bruce – the Hulk – was raging in the garden, throwing robed figures around as if they were toys. We took to the sky.

“Donna,” I groaned. Where the fuck was Nat? “F.R.I.D.A.Y, scan the area!”

“I sense her!” Stephen said, his voice a tense vibration. “She’s in the house! Wait…” I checked my forward momentum at the last second. “R’Shendah’s there too!”

“Counting on it,” I growled.

“Leave her to me.” Stephen tried to grab my shoulder; I shook him off, rolling away. “Please, Tony! Do _not_ engage with her!”

A sliver of rational thought broke through the blind rage in my head.

“I’ll get Donna,” I said. “You take out the Wicked Witch of the West.” Preferably before I spotted her. My fury needed an outlet, and though I was desperate to find our daughter I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t attack R’Shendah first. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y threw up a heat-scan of the building as we plunged toward the roof. A dozen adults. One kid. _Our_ kid. And…

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, what’s that little blob right there?”

“That would be Binky, boss.”

Too late to ask how the hell Donna’s cat had got here. She was with the Cloak – I had to hope the big guy was doing what it could to protect her.

I smashed through the roof, teeth gritted as my suit shattered layers of tiles and wood, tearing insulation. A room sped by. I plunged through the floor, emerging into the ruin of what could have been a games room or den. A quick course correction saw me cannon into the nearest enemy. Too bad – it was a terrorist, not R’Shendah. We rolled over and over, slamming into a wall. My suit took the brunt of the hit but a wave of pain still crashed over me, travelling up my leg, lodging like a million tiny knives in my hip, knee and ankle.

The terrorist tried to get up. I punched him in the face and slowly, clumsily, got to my feet, looking for Donna.

A blur of blue in my periphery was Stephen. He waved a hand and the dust coalesced, gathering into a cyclone, revealing a scene that was straight out of my worst nightmares.

Flanked by robed figures, R’Shendah stood in the middle of a field of fallen masonry, her face bloody and her white dreadlocks streaked with dust and dirt. Face twisted with pain or rage, she held Nat by the throat, lifting her a couple inches above the fallen debris. Nat was struggling, fingers prising at R’shendah’s, kicking her over and over in the back, the flank, the legs. But my single glance told me her struggles were weak and getting weaker. Most of the sorceress’s attention was taken up by the Cloak, which had wrapped itself around her free arm and trapped her staff.

Donna was ten feet away, crouched on a pile of rubble. Beneath her torn, dirty _Frozen_ outfit, her skin had turned bright gold, only a few bands of red around her face revealing that the nanites in her system had originally come from my suit. The nanites covered her from head to toe, even her hair, making it look as if she was wearing a cap. She was terrified, and her control was shot.

I didn’t stop to think. I ran forward, boots crunching over the debris as I scooped her into my arms.

“Is she OK?” I demanded. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, is she OK?”

An explosive force knocked me off my feet, sending me hurtling through the air and crashing through the nearest wall. I curled my body around my daughter’s, trying to protect her as much as possible; I’d once built a protective pod into the suit, but that had been designed for a baby, not a tall five-year-old.

I landed hard, dazed, trying to find my bearings. My back hurt. My head hurt. My leg hurt so bad I was pretty sure I’d broken it again, or at least dislodged the pin or whatever the hell Bruce had stuck in there to help it heal… 

“Daddy get up get up Daddy get up get up get up –”

Donna’s frantic voice broke through the fog around my brain. I shook my head. I was holding her too hard but I couldn’t let go.

“I’m alright.” That blast had been familiar. Haro… Haro had survived. I wondered whether the reality of his face would match up to my nightmares. “Are you hurt?”

“No…” She was sniffling, her face buried against my chest plate.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” I’d believe it more if it came from the AI.

“She’s unharmed, boss.” 

That was something, but now I was torn: - get Donna to safety, or keep her close and help Stephen? 

The decision was taken away from me. Stephen came hurtling through the ragged hole I’d just created in the wall, hovering above the floor. R’Shendah stalked after him, face twisted with fury. I couldn’t see Nat. I couldn’t see the Cloak. Her arms were out wide, power crackling around her hands in the form of violent yellow light. Her staff was gone.

Still hovering over the floor, Stephen reached into one of the pockets on the Coat of Possibilities and pulled out a plain white handkerchief. He threw it at R’Shendah; it swelled as it moved, growing, turning into a huge golden net. 

It closed over the sorceress. She screamed. I tried to cover Donna’s ears but nothing short of headphones would block out the awful noise; it set my teeth on edge and made my skin crawl.

“Get her out!” Stephen yelled. “I’ve got this! I’ve got –”

A small missile streaked through the air. I got my hand up, palm-repulsor shooting off a blast, just catching it in time to knock it off course –

The missile exploded. I wasn’t far enough away.

I curled around Donna again as white light seared my vision, clamping my eyes closed. The sound was monstrous, tearing through my ears, leaving nothing but an awful ringing noise.

R’Shendah – blackened, bleeding, furious – had cocooned herself in a glittering globe of yellow power. She dropped it and waved her hands, gathering up the smoke and dust.

Stephen was down. Unmoving. Donna sobbed against my chest. I struggled to get up, reaching helplessly for Stephen, struggling against the pain in my heart as well as the pain in my leg. 

“Papa?” Donna’s voice was high and shocked, striking right through the ringing noise left by the explosion. “Papa, get up! Daddy!” She shook my arm, almost knocking me off my feet. “Make him get up!”

I had to get her out. It broke me to leave Stephen, not knowing whether he was alive or dead, but if I didn’t get Donna out _right now_ the asshole would find a way to come back and haunt me.

I tried to pick her up. My back screamed at me. She pushed me away, making me stumble; I lost my balance, agony throbbing along my leg, and fell hard. I lunged and tried to catch her but she ran forward, arms extended, hands splayed.

“You hurt my Papa!” Donna’s voice had deepened, lost that frightened edge, as she stalked through the rubble. Hang on, the way she held her hands… I recognised Stephen describing it as a classic sorcerer pose. “You hurt my Daddy!”

“Donna, _run!_ ” I yelled as I struggled, yet again, to get up. “For God’s sake just _run!_ ”

She glanced over her shoulder. The look in her eyes drove fresh shards of terror through my heart.

“You don’t run from fights,” she said, her little-girl voice implacable. “That’s what you and Papa taught me.”

“Baby girl, _this isn’t your fight!_ F.R.I.D.A.Y, get me a lock on that witch!” I couldn’t see R’Shendah through the mobile dust; she’d turned it into a wall between us.

Donna turned away. Sparks of orange energy formed in her hands. My five-year-old daughter was about to try to take on a seasoned sorceress.

“There, boss!” A heat signature appeared on my HUD. I raised my hand again, locked on with both palm repulsors, and blasted her –

The repulsor beams ricocheted off something unseen and hit me full on.

I was knocked back hard enough to slam against the wall. The pain was intense, white-hot, all over my body. Alarms went off in the suit.

“Suit integrity down to thirty-three per cent. Also, you’re on fire. Initiating flame retardant.”

I tried to move, flailing until I was able to sit up. The stench of scorched metal filled my nose. I searched for Donna through the smoke –

Binky, Donna’s cat, strolled over the rubble and debris. Her mouth opened in what I thought was a yawn… wider and wider… until several thick, pulsing tentacles shot out of her throat, slashing through the smoke, piercing R’Shendah’s yellow energy shield. She had time for a single startled scream before the tentacles wrapped around her, pulled her forward. Pulling her down. 

Oh dear God. I did _not_ just see that. I did _not_ just see my daughter’s cat eat a human being.

Binky’s mouth closed. She licked her lips.

“Boss, Peter has arrived and is assisting Bruce outside,” F.R.I.D.A.Y announced. “A S.H.I.E.L.D team is three minutes away.”

“Haro,” I grunted. I had to get up – get Donna – get Stephen. Step one… remember how my legs worked. 

“Bruce is currently subduing him. He hasn’t stopped hitting him yet.”

“The other terrorists…”

“Bruce dealt with them.”

“Where’s my kid?” I crawled forward, pain rippling through my body.

“I’m here, Daddy.” She reared up out of the smoke like the weirdest little angel, then threw her arms around my neck.

I pulled her close. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, you’ve got the wheel,” I said. “Get us to Stephen. Then get us the hell out of here.”


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the safety of Kamar-Taj, Tony and Stephen recover from their injuries. Stephen still won't open up to Tony.

My body was present, but my mind had pretty much checked out. My eyes were passive observers. My brain was numb, shocked by the pain of my injuries, shocked by the trauma of everything I’d just witnessed. 

~

I got us out of the house. Somehow. I couldn’t remember how. There was a gap between Binky doing… whatever it was that Binky had done… and being outside on the lawn. I kept one hand on Donna’s shoulder and the other on Stephen’s. He wasn’t moving, but the slow rise and fall of his chest told me he was still alive. That, and that alone, stopped me losing my mind.

Nat – her clothes torn, face and exposed skin smeared with blood – limped over to us.

“Tony, I’m so sorry –”

“Not your fault.” It was exhausting to talk. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Guy doesn’t like to share his toys. He’s OK.”

“You break ‘em, you bought ‘em.” I let out a weary laugh, then coughed, tasting blood on my tongue. 

~

Things stayed kind of vague. People arrived. We were moved. The harsh, antiseptic smell told me we’d wound up in a hospital. I didn’t pass out – at least I don’t think I did – but the world swayed and shivered until all I could do was sit there and close my eyes.

I think I slept. I _might_ have passed out at that point, but everything had such a dream-like quality I couldn’t be sure. Whatever. At least I’d stopped hurting.

~

I knew I was awake again – awake and in my right mind – when the pain started.

With my eyes still closed, I took a moment for a systems check. I was out of the suit and in a bed, not my own, not a hospital. I felt a moment’s panic until I realised I was still wearing my watch, the secondary suit storage device. Knowing I could protect myself, I relaxed. Just a little. 

My leg… yeah, I’d done a number on the number I’d already done. It hurt like hell so I didn’t pay it too much attention. Of greater concern were the needles of pain running along my spine. I wiggled my fingers and toes, relieved that I _could_ wiggle them. 

At last I opened my eyes.

My sight told me what my sense of smell had been trying to tell me for the last few minutes – we weren’t in Kansas anymore. Or New York. Or even the United States. The dark, heavy architecture, thick drapes, and lingering smell of incense meant only one thing: - Kamar-Taj. More specifically, Stephen’s bedroom.

Donna sat on one side of the criminally-soft bed. Her skin was back to normal. No more nanites. No gold and red. Just thick, dark hair and huge grey eyes. I couldn’t see a scratch on her. A tight knot of tension inside me – tension I hadn’t realised I’d been holding – released, almost enough to make me tremble.

The Cloak of Levitation was wrapped her shoulders, gently playing with her hair. Binky was curled up in her lap, purring, looking as if she hadn’t somehow eaten a renegade Wakandan sorceress. Even though I’d seen it, I was still doubting the evidence of my own eyes.

Stephen had taken a chair on the other side of the bed. I could hardly bring myself to look at him, knowing that he’d been injured, but when I finally dragged my eyes to his I realised that it hurt more not to look.

He sat carefully in the chair, back straight, hands on his knees. He wore a loose dove grey tunic and pants. The clothes seemed immaculate, but the rest of him wasn’t – the exposed skin of his face and hands was covered in scratches and cuts, bruised and swollen. I squinted. Maybe not as bruised and swollen as it should have been, considering he’d been caught in a blast. I guessed he’d worked a little mojo on himself.

He smiled as I looked at him, the movement creasing the cuts around his mouth and cheeks. If it pained him, he didn’t let it show. Moisture made his eyes shine. 

I smiled back, knowing I probably looked the same. We shared that private moment. Just the two of us. Just a few seconds to reconnect before I got Donna’s attention. 

“Hey, Chicken,” I croaked eventually, breaking our gaze and looking back at our daughter.

Donna – who’d been mechanically stroking the thing that looked like a cat but couldn’t possibly be one – looked up, eyes widening.

“Daddy!”

“Whaddya know. You didn’t kick off about chicken.” My throat was dry and sore.

“Everyone likes chicken pie, you idiot.” Stephen’s voice rumbled in my ears, making something throb deep inside my chest. He stood and bent over me, the movement slow and controlled, pressing his dry lips to my forehead. Overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth, his touch, I closed my eyes, trying to hold back the tears that stung my lids. 

I fumbled for his hand, squeezing as hard as I could. My kid could squeeze harder than that, but Stephen squeezed back anyway.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured.

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” I opened my eyes, staring at him through a thin veil of moisture. It suddenly seemed vitally important that I know the answer to my question.

“Yes. I promise.” He let out a low, ragged breath. “Pinkie promise.”

~

I felt better when I next woke up. Stronger. Still in pain – quite a lot of pain, actually – but nothing I couldn’t tolerate. One of the many downsides of being Iron Man; injuries, scars, high pain threshold.

Donna was gone, and I felt a momentary pang of fear before reality kicked in. She was probably asleep somewhere. Like Stephen, who was slumped in his seat, head back, arms folded over his chest. The tunic and pants were rumpled, an indicator that he hadn’t really moved much out of his seat. He should be resting in bed – preferably in a hospital, what even was he thinking bringing us here? – not sitting beside mine. But I wouldn’t wake him for the world.

“How do you feel?” he asked, eyes blinking open, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“How the hell did you even know I was awake?” My throat was still sore.

He smirked. “Your breathing changed.”

“That’s both romantic and really, _really_ creepy.”

“I love you. I’m allowed to be creepy.”

“Then to answer your question,” I said, the simple power of his words making my throat tighten, “guess I’m not doing so well. But I love you too, and right now that helps. Are _you_ OK?” The cuts on his face told me, loud and clear, that he was not, so I’d be monitoring what he said next. “And Donna?”

His eyes misted over. He leaned forward and reached for my hand. I clutched it tight, bringing it to my lips, kissing his torn knuckles. 

“I’ll live,” he said. “Guess I can mark ‘getting caught in an explosion’ off my Avengers ‘to do’ list. Donna’s in the Library with Wong.”

“Not that I don’t like a change of scenery as much as the next guy, but shouldn’t you be in hospital? Me, too, I guess,” I added with an awkward shrug. 

“We were there.” His face shuttered. “Fury, too. He wanted…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter right now. We got the surgery we needed, and as soon as I was able I opened a gate and brought you all here.”

I was silent, thinking through the ramifications of what he’d just told me, working out what he hadn’t said. What had Fury done – or demanded – that made Stephen decide Kamar-Taj was safer than a hospital?

I was pretty sure the answer to that was sitting in the Library, petting the not-kitty and snuggling up with the Cloak. How Fury had found out didn’t matter. All that mattered now was how we dealt with the fall-out. 

“You should be resting,” I said eventually.

“Comfy seat.” He looked as if he was sitting on a pin.

“I need you to get some proper rest.” I held his eyes. “Promise me.”

“I will.”

“Didn’t pinkie promise.” 

His crooked smile told me he had no intentions of leaving my side. You idiot, Stephen. You goddamned beautiful idiot.

“The uh, the Cloak?” I asked. “The…” I hesitated. Stephen had been unconscious; he wouldn’t have seen what Binky did. Unless Donna told him? Would he believe her? “The cat?”

“The Cloak was unharmed, though I cannot say the same for the terrorists it attacked. It has a remarkably mean streak when those it cares for are threatened. As for Binky, well… we need to have a conversation about her, but it’s safe to leave her with our daughter. We can talk about that later. You should be resting, too.”

“I’d check my medical notes,” I said, letting out a soft grunt and reaching for the end of the bed, “but my arms won’t stretch that far. _Accio_ clipboard?”

“I’ve read that thing so many damned times I’ve memorised it.” From the hard look in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t joking. I found that extremely humbling. “But I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version. Your leg’s a wreck – you damaged the bone around the pin, and it’ll heal, but it’ll take a lot longer this time. We were worried you had spinal injuries.” Translation – _I was worried._ “But the swelling’s gone down and your scan results are clear.”

I searched his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He met my eyes. Sighed. “There was severe internal bleeding. You damaged several organs. You were in surgery for…. God, long enough that I was terrified I’d have to learn to be a single parent.”

“How long was I unconscious?” The hard sting of tears had me pressing my fingers against my eyes.

“Days. I moved you here as soon as you were stabilised.”

That explained why I wasn’t in the ICU. I’d already gone through the worst. And so had Stephen, judging from the haggard look on his face. He shouldn’t have had to deal with this – recovering from his own surgery while having to reassure Donna that I’d get through mine.

“Love you,” I croaked.

“Love you too.”

~

We spent time just… being ourselves. No shop talk. We enjoyed each other’s company. It was almost like our early days on the ship, travelling back through space, when Stephen had nursed me through day after day of vicious hangovers… and, in the process, fallen in love with me. I think we both understood that we’d gone through too much. We just needed a… I don’t know, a pause. An opportunity to remember who we were. Not Iron Man. Not the Sorcerer Supreme. Just Tony and Stephen.

“Nap with me?” I suggested some time later. “You look like you could use the rest.”

His lips quirked. “Say what you really mean.”

“You look like shit. I’m sleeping in your bed and look, it’s all warmed up ready for you.”

“It’s your bed, too.”

That was a deeper conversation than I was willing to have right now. Kamar-Taj was his home, not mine. Not ours. 

I pulled back a corner of the blanket. “Get in here, Stephen.”

“I should check on Donna…”

“You said yourself she’s with Wong.”

He smiled and started pulling off his clothes. Stripped down to his boxers, he spooned in behind me. I wasn’t about to tell him that – even though he was being as gentle as he could – his touch still hurt. I needed him.

~

I felt better when I woke, although considering the mess I’d made of my leg – I had a shiny new cast – ‘better’ was relative. The low, grinding pain was wearing. But hey; better than being dead, right?

Stephen looked better, too, but only in terms of how tired he’d looked before. When I peeked beneath the blanket, the bruises and cuts were painfully apparent. A dressing showed me where he’d had surgery. We made quite the couple.

“Only perverts stare at their partners under the blanket,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

“You know it ticks me off when you do that, right?” Knowing when I was awake was a pain in the ass.

“I live to irritate, oh jewel of my heart.”

“If you weren’t covered in bruises I’d poke you in the ribs.”

“Save it for later,” he murmured, his eyes finally opening. He leaned forward and kissed me, lips dry and rough against mine.

“Oh, I will. I’m gonna poke you so hard.”

He grinned. “We _are_ still talking about ribs, right?”

“Well, I was…” My dick gave a little twitch, despite the constant background pain. Sex with Stephen had never been boring, never routine. He was creative. He preferred to top. Generally I was happy to let him, but that didn’t mean he always had it his own way. And every now and again we both liked to switch it around.

A hot gleam sparked in his eyes. His kiss this time was slower. Deeper. But he pulled away all too soon.

“Spoilsport,” I mumbled.

“Neither of us are in a position to take this further.” His voice was rough, unsteady, revealing more than he wanted to show. 

The real world was still waiting for us. Our little bubble was never going to last. 

“Help me sit up?” I asked.

“You’ve got that look on your face,” he said, resigned, hands gentle as he helped me move. Yeah, getting out of bed wasn’t going to be an option for a few days yet. 

“What kind of look?”

“It’s your ‘I’m going to get things done and damn the consequences’ look.”

“I have that look?”

“And several more. There’s the ‘I’m going to get on Stephen’s last nerve’, the ‘If Donna doesn’t put her socks on I’m going to scream’, and my personal favourite, the ‘I’m going to blow Stephen until _he_ screams’.”

This time my dick didn’t just twitch, it lurched to full hardness. 

“If you’re gonna lay there and prick tease, I need to go find a cold shower.” I made to get up, knowing I wasn’t able, knowing Stephen would stop me before I could even swing a leg over the edge of the bed. 

His hand closed gently around my arm. I stilled, smiling up at him, enjoying the warmth on his face.

“Tell me what you need,” he said. At my raised eyebrow, he coughed, then clarified, “I mean, tell me what you need to know.” 

And just like that, our quiet time was over. It was time to get down to business.

“Tell me about Nat and Bruce,” I asked. I still needed to know about Binky, but I wanted time to brace myself for that. To work up to it. Maybe she hadn’t eaten R’Shendah whole. Yeah, that was it – I’d hit my head too hard and just hallucinated the whole damned thing.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that story?” His face was solemn.

“That bad?”

“Well, it’s… not great,” he admitted.

“Go on. I’m a big boy.”

“Nat was severely injured during the fight,” he said. “R’Shendah tossed her around like a rag doll. Her pain threshold must be through the roof.”

“Ex-Soviet spy,” I grunted, a hard knot of guilt forming in my chest. Nat’s injuries were my fault – _I_ was the one who’d asked her to babysit, after all – and now I had to live with that. “They’ve got that, what d’you call it, Red Room program or something.”

“Indeed.” Stephen’s fingers stroked along my arm. “She’s got multiple broken bones, internal injuries, bruising –”

“Alright, alright, I get the picture.” I couldn’t hear any more. Every word just added to my guilt.

“It gets worse.” 

“Worse than being _injured?_ ”

“S.H.I.E.L.D had Bruce’s property bugged –”

“Son of a _bitch –_ ”

Stephen grabbed my arm as I pushed the blanket back. Broken leg or not, I was gonna get out of this bed, track Nick Fury down and break his goddamned face.

“Stop it,” Stephen snapped. “You’re not going anywhere in this condition!”

“Oh, so a little thing like ‘gross invasion of privacy’ doesn’t matter to you?”

“Of course it matters! Look, are you going to let me finish, or are you going to do something idiotic?”

“Wow, honey, don’t hold back,” I muttered, slumping back against the bed. “Tell me how you really feel.”

For a moment a look of such anguish passed across his face that I stared at him, but it was there and gone in a flash. 

“Stephen –” I was going to make him tell me why he looked like that, and I was going to keep asking until I got an answer.

“Not now.” His voice was thick.

“Tell me.” I’d provoked something deep with my flippant comment, and we were damned well going to talk about that. Maybe for once he could be completely honest with me.

“I said not now!” He pushed the blanket back, swinging his long legs over the side.

“Don’t go –” I reached for him but I was too slow; he moved out of range, reaching for his clothes. “Goddamit, why can’t you just _talk_ to me?”

“Because you won’t like what I have to say,” he growled. “And if you try to get out of that bed _one more fucking time_ I’m going to tie you down! Just lay down and _rest!_ ”

“Stephen –!”

But he was already striding across the room, waving his hand to open the door. He slammed it shut behind him hard enough to make the windows rattle.


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat and Bruce give Tony some news that leaves him reeling.  
> Tony learns the truth about Donna's cat.  
> Wakanda makes a demand.

Frustrated – hurting outside and in – I had no choice but to do as I was told, and I didn’t know what rankled more; not being able to go after him, or basically being told to shut up. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” I croaked. “Gimme a system report on the suit.”

“Integrity down to unsustainable levels, boss. It needs significant repair.”

I slapped the blanket, frustrated all over again. At least in the suit I could have braced my leg enough to get up and walk. Or at least walk a couple paces, realise I’d made a terrible mistake, and topple over.

Stupid asshole. Him or me, at this point I honestly didn’t know. 

~

The monotony of being way too angry to rest properly was finally broken when the door opened again. I stared, hopeful for Stephen’s face even though I was pretty sure I was going to punch it. What even did ‘you won’t like what I have to say’ mean? Did he intend to break up with me? Did he intend to walk out on his family, on his daughter? God knows he’d spent enough time away from home that it kind of felt like he’d already done that – 

I didn’t expect to see Natasha in a wheelchair. I didn’t expect to see Bruce pushing her. But that was what I got.

“Hey, Tony.” Her voice was weary, but the light in her blue eyes was as strong as ever. She wore wrap-around robes so darkly plum they were almost black, while Bruce had been given a navy tunic and pants. Kamar-Taj wasn’t exactly known for its fashion. 

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted. Nothing I said would ever make up for this. Nothing I could give her – money, security, whatever – would ever be enough. “This is all my fault –”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“But –”

“Oh my God,” she rolled her eyes, “do you just like listening to the sound of your own voice? Don’t answer that.”

Bruce wheeled her chair to a spot beside my bed and put on the brake, taking the chair next to her. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands lightly clasped together. He nodded at me but said nothing. Alright – this was Nat’s show. I’d take the verbal grilling I deserved. 

“What happened to me was not your fault.” Her throaty voice was lower than usual, a little raspier, and now I noticed bruising around her neck. “It’s R’Shendah’s fault. And mine, I guess, for not putting her down quicker.”

“She’s a goddamn sorceress!” I couldn’t help myself. “And no offence, but you’re a regular superhero. No suit, no magic, not even a lame bow and arrow.”

“‘Regular superhero’?” Her smile was pained. “You know, I think I actually like that. But believe me, I know my limitations, and there are ways to take down people like her. I just wasn’t quick enough.”

I stared at her, horrified, considering what she hadn’t said: - by ‘people like her’, she meant sorcerers. Including Stephen. _That_ meant it had probably come from S.H.I.E.L.D; more specifically, that paranoid old bastard Fury. He wanted a way to counter anything and damn anyone who got hurt in the process. 

“Bruce, man, help me out here,” I said helplessly. “I have to take the blame for this –”

“Sorry, buddy.” He shook his head. “Nat’s way scarier than I am when she gets pissed off.”

“I’m not here to play the blame game,” she said, giving him a brief look loaded with emotion that I couldn’t decipher. “I’m here to tell you that I – and Bruce – are no longer affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Huh?”

“She quit, Tony. We both did.”

I pushed air out between my teeth. “Stephen said S.H.I.E.L.D had your place bugged. I assume he meant Fury.”

“Correct. It was not sanctioned by Daisy Johnson. She had no knowledge of it.”

I wasn’t so sure I believed that. S.H.I.E.L.D directors were squirrelly when it came to information; Fury, Coulson, they’d all played their cards close to their chests, but they were also equally good at reading other people’s cards. I made a mental note to be wary of this Daisy chick. I made another mental note to never call her ‘chick’, either. 

“Tell me what happened,” I said.

“He tried to um, he, uh…” She hesitated, looking to Bruce for support. He nodded, reaching for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “He tried to take Donna into custody. For her own protection, he said.”

I didn’t explode. But it was close. Instead I gripped the blanket so hard the tendons in my hands began to hurt. I clenched my jaw. My teeth started to ache. Nausea made my stomach cramp. 

“Let me guess.” Getting words out through my clamped teeth was hard. “He saw her skin change. He saw her using magic. _Trying_ to use magic,” I said with a stiff shrug. “How did he try…?” God, I was so angry I couldn’t make myself speak. Nat had known about her abilities; Bruce had not. At least he didn’t seem pissed that we hadn’t told him. I guess he understood why.

“Fury turned up at the hospital,” Bruce said. “Everyone was in surgery. I was in the waiting room with that damned cat. Donna asked for a couple bucks to get something from the vending machine.”

“You let her out of your sight for _candy?_ Sorry, sorry,” I added, at Nat’s sharp look.

“I let her out into the hall where I could see her through a plastic barrier,” he corrected, un-phased. “I saw them talking. She got angry and ran back to me before he could grab her. He came into the waiting room and gave me some bull story about protective custody.”

“Tell him about the cat,” Nat prompted.

Bruce actually smiled. “It was the damnedest thing,” he said, shaking his head. “He saw Binky and froze on the spot. Actually froze.”

“What the hell?” Jesus. Maybe I _hadn’t_ hallucinated what I thought I’d seen.

“I took Donna and left the hospital. I made a few calls, got some independent security, made sure S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t have a presence in the hospital. As soon as Stephen was able he gated us all here.”

“My God,” I said. “That’s like… a declaration of war or something.”

“You have to stand up for what you believe in,” Nat interjected. “Like with Sokovia. Like with Thanos. Fury doesn’t represent S.H.I.E.L.D, and I think this was enough to make Director Johnson finally sit up and pay attention.”

“That asshole will have his finger in the pie until he dies,” I grunted.

“If he doesn’t watch himself,” Bruce said, his expression unusually hard, “that will be sooner than he’d expected.”

~

Nat was obviously tired, her excursion having exhausted her. I pretty much just shooed them out, but it was only when they were gone I realised I still knew nothing about that goddamned cat.

Just as I was beginning to think about food, the door opened again – Wong, carrying a tray, Donna following behind him. She still wore the Cloak of Levitation around her shoulders. Perched among the folds, Binky watched me with big green eyes. 

That cat had eaten a human being. I shifted, uneasy, wincing as the movement jostled my leg. Stephen said it was safe for her to be around our daughter, and I trusted him one hundred per cent with her safety, but I doubted that would ever stop me worrying. 

Having said that, the Cloak of Levitation could be a stone-cold killer when it wanted to be. Stephen, too, had blood on his hands. And me. Nat… Bruce… Peter… my little girl had a family of people who weren’t scared to get into a fight. What the hell kind of lessons were we teaching her?

A memory flashed behind my eyes. Donna, facing off against R’Shendah, frightened but standing up just the same. I was fiercely proud of that, and also crazy terrified: - she was _five years old._ On a list of things little kids should be doing, that wouldn’t even make the reserve. She should be playing with her toys, making friends, getting paint in her hair. Not trying to protect her parents from the bad guys.

That meant _we_ weren’t doing our jobs right.

“Hey, Raspberry.” I patted the bed. Stephen hadn’t freaked out about the cat; neither had Nat or Bruce, or Wong. Until someone told me what the deal was and I could make my own decision, that had to count for something.

Donna blew a raspberry, then slapped a hand over her mouth, giggling. I laughed and winced as it tweaked my sore muscles. She climbed up onto the bed beside me. Binky pushed her head beneath the blanket until I lifted it up, letting her crawl underneath.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I told Wong. “How’s it hanging?”

He gave me a single laconic look. “Chicken soup,” he said, setting the tray down on my lap.

“Still not much of a one for small talk. OK, I can live with that, though I kinda hoped you’d be Stephen.”

Wong flicked a look at Donna. “He’s resting. Eat your food.”

Resting. OK. It might actually be true. 

It hurt that he wasn’t resting here. With me. In his own bed. 

“Can someone please tell me about the cat?”

“That should come from Stephen.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not here right now.” He heard the edge in my voice and hesitated. But still he shook his head.

“She’s a Flerken, Daddy,” Donna said, her voice muffled. She’d burrowed right under the blanket next to her kitty, a little-girl-shaped lump. 

“A what-now?”

“A Flerken. That’s an alien. Right, Wong?”

I looked at him, eyebrows raised. Whatcha gonna do, Wong? Ignore her?

“Yes,” he said eventually, sighing. 

“What the…”

“Flerkens are an alien race that physically resemble a domestic housecat,” he explained. “They are loyal to those they choose to befriend.”

“The uh, the tentacle thing?”

“They’ve got a pocket dimension inside them.”

“Huh?”

“They’re TARDIS kitties,” Donna said. “Bigger on the inside than the outside.”

My brain throbbed. I actually felt it pulse against my skull as I tried to think about the ramifications of what I’d just heard.

“So R’Shendah…” I said cautiously. I moved my hand until I found the cat, idly stroking her soft flank. 

“Is still inside her,” Wong confirmed. “Alive. Confined. T’Challa and Shuri have been demanding she be returned to Wakanda to face trial, along with the other surviving Deep Brotherhood terrorists.”

I couldn’t think of an expletive deep enough to convey everything I was feeling right now. More importantly, I couldn’t speak it out loud, because my little jumping bean was in earshot. 

“That means the cat has to go,” I speculated. “Either that, or Binky coughs up the world’s nastiest hairball right here in Kamar-Taj.”

“Yes.”

“Would she be a hairball, Daddy?”

“Honestly, kiddo, I have no idea.” I looked back at Wong. “Let me guess. Stephen’s refusing to hand her over.”

“Sorcerers have ways of dealing with our own people.”

“Hasn’t worked well for you so far, has it? I mean, this woman’s been out and about in the world, doing what she wants, and Stephen’s done… what?” Maybe I was being unfair to him, but at this point I didn’t care. “Nothing, that’s what he’s done.”

“It’s not that simple –”

“Of course it isn’t,” I sighed, settling deeper into the pillows. My arm snaked out, encouraging Donna to snuggle against my side. It hurt. I didn’t care. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s hard enough tracking down regular criminals.” What was wrong with me? Mad at Stephen one minute, understanding him the next. I didn’t want to understand him. I wanted to stay mad at him. 

“He is considering his options,” Wong said carefully.

“Well, he either hands her over or he doesn’t. And if you say ‘it’s not that simple’, I’m gonna scream like a little girl. No offence.” I nudged my daughter. She giggled. 

“Wakanda is not prepared to defend itself against a sorcerer.”

“Well, slap her in anti-magic cuffs or something. They must be a thing, right?”

Wong rolled his eyes. “If they were a thing, policing ourselves would be a much easier job.” He sighed. “The safest option is if he takes the Flerken to Wakanda himself. When R’Shendah is regurgitated, Stephen would imprison her within a temporary force-field for the duration of the trial. Until…” He glanced at Donna.

Until she was executed. Yeah. I got that. 

“But he doesn’t want to go down that route?” 

“No.”

“Stubborn.” I sighed. “He thinks she’s his responsibility, doesn’t he? He’s the Sorcerer Supreme, she’s a rogue sorceress.” 

“When a sorcerer rebels against Kamar-Taj, the results can be disastrous.”

Yeah. I got that. But Stephen needed to learn a lesson that had taken me years to get – that he didn’t have to do everything alone. He didn’t have to shoulder every responsibility. There were plenty of people who could help with this. Including me… if I could ever heal up before the next Big Bad came calling.


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Stephen finally work through their problems.  
> Tony makes a big decision.

A couple days passed. Stephen didn’t show. It was like being back at home, when he’d spent a week or more away, except this time we were in the same goddamned building. That hurt. For all he’d said he loved me, I couldn’t help but question that. Not even visits from everyone else – Donna, Nat, Bruce, Wong, Peter – could make up for that.

Four days after I found out about Binky, I finally felt strong enough to get up out of bed. Alright, alright, so I was just going stir crazy sitting on my ass all day, and without a change of scenery I was going to start screaming. I asked Bruce if he could find me some crutches. He came up one better and got hold of a wheelchair. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, scan this place, will ya? Find Stephen for me?”

“I’m unable to locate him, boss.” She sounded confused. “There is something here that interferes with my neural network.”

“Damn. It’s magic.” Of course, he’d have something set up to prevent technological incursions, particularly in light of playing host to a wanted Wakandan criminal. I knew Shuri and T’Challa well – neither of them would be above sneaking into Kamar-Taj to manually extract the cat. But with magic, Stephen could make the place undetectable. 

So in the end I did it the old-fashioned way – I just asked the students where he was. Eventually I found him in a deserted courtyard. It was beautiful here, several cherry trees heavy with blossom, a small pond stocked with brightly-coloured koi. Stephen sat beneath one of the trees, cross-legged, eyes closed. Classic sorcerer’s meditation pose. He looked relaxed in a charcoal grey tunic and pants. His feet were bare. Despite my anger with him, despite the way he’d hurt me, I found that oddly endearing. There was nothing sexual about it (God knows he had bony feet, and when they were cold he had a habit of pressing them against my legs both to warm them up and piss me off) but somehow, it made him seem more approachable. 

“You should be resting,” he said, eyes still closed. I hadn’t even moved and he knew I was here.

“I’m sat down.” I rolled the chair across the courtyard, bumping over the occasional uneven flagstone. “That’s basically resting.”

His eyes opened. He looked tired, deep lines framing his face, his eyes a dull grey completely unlike his usual energy.

“You should be resting, too,” I added.

“I’m sat down,” he replied, deliberately repeating my words. “That’s basically resting.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re a stubborn asshole?”

“Well, you haven’t told me that for a while –”

“That’s because I haven’t seen you for days,” I snapped, cutting him off. I knew he didn’t like being put on the spot – neither of us did, it was one of the reasons we were so bad at communication – but dammit, I needed answers. I needed to know where I stood with him… where Donna stood. “Look, do you want to break up with me? Is that what this is about?”

“God, no!” Alarm flared in his eyes. Finally, a spark of energy.

“Then what are we doing here?” I wasn’t talking about Kamar-Taj, and he knew that. “Just what the fuck is happening to us?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” But he looked away.

“Having you home these last couple of weeks has been like this lovely dream,” I croaked. “But now I’ve woken up and things have gone back to how they were. You’re away so long sometimes I think you’ve forgotten we exist.” This conversation – however it played out – had been a long time coming, and I regretted that I hadn’t brought it up when I’d first realised we had a problem. Keeping things bottled up was our number one issue. “And even when you’re with us, you act like you can’t wait to get away. I need…” I drew a ragged breath. “I need to know what’s wrong so we can fix it.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His bitter smile made my heart twist. “Sometimes it feels like there _is_ no ‘we’.”

I drew a sharp breath, pain rippling through my chest. I don’t think he’d meant his words to be hurtful… but they were. Hell, I guess mine had been, too. 

“What makes you say that?” I tried to stay calm. I didn’t want this to turn into yet another argument, but we were right on the edge of it… on the edge of _something._

“Let it go.”

“I can’t. This is driving us apart and I… I can’t let it go.”

“Can’t things just stay as they are?” There was a frightened edge to his voice that I hadn’t heard for a long time.

“What, with us barely able to talk to each other? With me home alone, constantly wondering if you’re staying away because of something _I’ve…_ ” The words caught in my throat. Dammit, I didn’t want to start blaming myself for his absences – he was a grown adult, for Christ’s sake – but I was desperate enough that I was questioning everything, including myself. 

I couldn’t live like this.

“I said you wouldn’t like what I had to say,” he rasped.

“So it _is_ something I’ve done.” A tight, hard lump formed in my throat. I wanted to cry. 

“No, no, it’s… dammit, Tony, it’s not that simple!”

That seemed to be all I was hearing these days. 

“Then _tell_ me!” I demanded. “We’re adults, were supposed to be able to work shit like this out –”

“I don’t feel like part of this family, OK?”

I stared at him, lost for words. He stared right back. His face was tense and tight. 

“How can you say that?” My mouth was moving, the words were mine, but the voice didn’t seem as if it was coming from me. I felt light-headed. My eyes stung. “You’re my _partner._ The father of our child.”

“I see you two together,” he said, eyes fixed on mine, “and it’s as if she’s yours, not mine. Not ours.” The words spilled out of him, tumbling over each other, as if he’d been holding onto them for a long time. It struck me – hard – that this was a mirror of how I’d felt, watching them meditate. “She turns to you for everything, had you noticed that? She always, _always_ goes to you first –”

“Can you blame her? You’re never here!”

“Because I feel like you’re both shutting me out! When I’m home you’re either working or spending time with her! You’ve already proven that you don’t need me!”

“If I didn’t need you then why the _fuck_ does this hurt so much?” I shouted. I couldn’t stop angry tears spilling over my lids, trekking down my face. I tried to get up, tried to get my stupid broken leg to support me, but as soon as I set my foot to the floor the knee buckled. I tumbled forward.

Stephen moved swiftly. One moment he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the next he was right there with me, arms around my waist, taking most of my weight. I grabbed his shirt, splaying my fingers over his chest. 

“Idiot,” he growled, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard. His eyes swum with unshed tears, but as he moved, they spilled over. “When a doctor tells you to rest, why can’t you just fucking _rest?_ ”

“Don’t ever think that I don’t need you,” I croaked, ignoring his comment. “Because I do.” I dug my fingers into his shoulders. “I do.”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, easing me back into the wheelchair as his eyes played over my face. He crouched in front of me, hands on my knees. I covered them with my own.

“Stay with us,” I said immediately. “Like you’ve been doing the last couple of weeks. The more you’re home, the more Donna will feel like she’s able to include you with things.”

“But my work…”

“Stop using it as an excuse. Please? You’ve already shown you can work from home, that Wong can handle things too.”

“What about _your_ work?” His voice cracked on the last word.

I thought about it. “I work too hard. And too much,” I admitted. “I don’t have deadlines so I guess…” I cleared my throat. “I’m so sorry if it felt like I’ve been pushing you away. That was never my intention. I just… you get that it’s a distraction, right? Every time I got down about you not being around, I worked just a little bit longer.”

His eyes widened. I think we’d both come to understand that we’d trapped ourselves in a vicious loop; his coping mechanism triggered mine, which in turn triggered his again. God. What a mess.

“So how do we fix this?” he asked. “How do we fix _ourselves?_ ”

I squeezed his hands. This was the most honest we’d been with each other since… well, it felt like since Donna had been born. It was terrifying. It was painful. It was liberating. 

“I think we have to set boundaries,” I said cautiously. “I mean, like, work boundaries. Regular hours. I stop at a certain time. You stop. That’s it, we close the door, it’s done for the day. Then it’s just you, me, and Donna.”

“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme.” His tone was just as cautious. “I’m not sure I _can_ set boundaries.”

“I get that. If there’s an emergency, some punk invading our dimension, I’d never expect you to sit back just because I want you home.” I was beginning to hope that maybe – just maybe? – we were beginning to find a way out of this.

“Just as I’d never expect you sit back if there was a fight only Iron Man could settle. But everything else – the day-to-day stuff… yeah. I’d like that.” He was nodding. The hope on his face was beautiful.

I had my own private reservations about my future as Iron Man. But this wasn’t the time or the place to air them. This was about two guys and their daughter, about finding a way forward so that we could all stay together.

“Then we make it happen.” I hesitated. “I love you so much it makes me crazy, did you know that? I don’t…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want us to have to go through this again.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” His eyes were large and luminous, the sharp jut of his cheekbones adding a fragility to his face I hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe it had nothing to do with his face at all, and everything to do with the way I’d come to view our relationship; something that had to be protected. “We’re going to learn how to actually talk to each other before things get out of hand.” It was his turn to hesitate. “If I can do brain surgery, I can do this.”

“Pinkie promise?”

He laughed, leaned forward, and kissed me. His lips were dry and warm. Familiar.

“Pinkie promise,” he agreed.

~

It took a little persuading – alright, a _lot_ of persuading – but I convinced Stephen he should hand R’Shendah over to Wakandan justice with the proviso that he went with her to boost security. We went as a family; me, Stephen, Donna, Binky, the Cloak. Stephen hadn’t wanted Donna to come with us, hadn’t wanted her to see what we were doing, but the issue became moot – we realised that Binky wasn’t going anywhere without Donna. Like the Cloak, the cat had picked her out as a friend, and after the first time she’d bitch-slapped us with those awful tentacles we realised there was no easy way to get the damned cat to go anywhere she didn’t want to go.

Despite Stephen’s misgivings, I thought it would be good for Donna to see R’Shendah’s trial, to see that bad people did get punished for the terrible things they’d done. 

What came after – the execution – was for grown-up eyes only. 

Then we went home.

~

“Daddy, what’s for dinner?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, kiddo.” I looked away from the holographic blueprints, then saved my work and closed the program down. My official clocking-off time was five thirty and there were still five minutes to go, but weeks after R’Shendah’s execution I was finding it easier and easier to separate myself from my work. I’d always love tinkering, but it turned out I loved my family even more. 

“Papa’s door is closed.” Donna scuffed her foot. She’d grown a half-inch, and we’d have to take her shopping for new clothes soon. The Cloak of Levitation had taken up its usual place around her shoulders. Cowls, it seemed, were _in_ this season.

“Is it, now?” Like me, he had five more minutes on the clock. “Well, he’s got a couple more minutes. If that door’s not open in time, make puking noises, OK?” There was nothing like the threat of a vomiting child to get a parent moving. 

“But I want him to make dinner _now,_ ” she complained.

“And I want him to come sweep me off my feet,” I said. “But he’s not quite done, sweetie.”

“Eew. Are you gonna do that icky kissing thing again?”

“Well _gosh,_ I hope so.” 

We’d done a helluva lot more than kissing since we’d come home. Adjusting our working hours, making that commitment to actually _be_ with each other – it felt as if we’d recaptured the early days of our relationship, when everything still felt new and fresh and sometimes just a little confusing. I had no doubt we’d run into more brick walls in the future, but if we just remembered that we could _talk_ about things, I had faith we’d get through anything.

Donna pulled a face. “I’m never going to kiss anyone,” she said, covering her mouth. “It’s gross! Aren’t you worried about cooties?”

“Are cooties still a thing?” I shook my head, marvelling at the young people of today. “See, when one person loves another person very much, it protects them against cooties. So you should only kiss someone you really love.” Check me out, giving my daughter dating advice.

She made fake-vomiting noises, then turned to run out of the room, the Cloak rippling around her shoulders.

“Tell Binky we’ve got left-over bacon!” I called at her departing back.

The cat _meowed._ I looked down and there she was, appearing out of nowhere, twining around my feet.

“You know I hate it when you do that,” I said, shaking my finger at her. She just looked up at me with her iridescent eyes, butting her head against my knees. She hadn’t _actually_ appeared out of nowhere; she was just super-good at ninjaing her way around, like all cats. Or…. Flerken-alien-things. “What, you think I’ve got bacon on me right now?” I spread my arms wide. “Like, right now? Is that how you’re gonna play it? Act like a greedy asshole?” 

She _meowed_ again.

“Bacon lives in the kitchen, furrball. Now git.”

~

Donna didn’t need to use her fake-vomit trick to get Stephen to finish work on time. She explained – in her usual excited, high-pitched chatter – that he’d already been coming out of his study when she got there. I nodded and smiled, then glanced at Stephen, who’d been following along behind her. The smile I gave him was rather wider.

“So, Papa Bear, what’s for dinner?” I was clearing the table, piling Donna’s pictures and crayons into a pile, turning to put them safely in a drawer. 

“Well, I thought I might do something with left-over bacon…”

And just like magic, Binky twined around his legs. He looked down, sighed, and scratched his head.

“Like giving it to the cat,” he said. “Chicken salad it is, then.”

“Bleugh.” Donna stuck out her tongue. “I hate salad.”

“ _Whaaaat?_ ” I drew the word out, feigning shock. “Who hates salad? You?” I looked at Stephen. He shook his head. “Well _I_ sure don’t hate salad.”

“Salad’s for rabbits.”

“Well I guess you’d better get munching then, Bunny.” I ruffled her hair. She grimaced and wriggled away.

I laughed and started helping Stephen fix dinner.

~

“So, I was thinking…”

“Watch yourself.” Stephen toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “That way lies madness.”

I hadn’t drunk since before Donna was born – like, literally the night she was conceived – because I couldn’t stand the person I became when I was drunk, couldn’t stand the temptation to turn to alcohol when life got rough. Stephen had faced his own problems with booze, but his self-control had always been better than mine. He hadn’t needed to cut it out of his life completely.

“My sides are splitting,” I said. 

“Well, old age will do that to a guy. No, wait, that’s stuffed toys.” His grin was boyish and encouraging, a world away from his serious Sorcerer Supreme persona. 

“I’ll give you stuffed toys, mister.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling that little vibrating thing I found in your bedside drawer the other day?” he asked, eyebrows arched, tone innocent. 

I glanced toward the kitchen where I could just see Donna at the table, working on her drawings. I looked back at Stephen.

“If you’re well-behaved, maybe I’ll show you after the kid goes to bed.”

His eyes bored into mine, burning with the low, slow heat that was every bit as much of a turn-on as his physical touch.

“What if I’m badly-behaved?” He shook his head, covering his face with one hand. “Sorry. For some reason I’m completely distracted.” He sipped his wine. “You were about to tell me something.”

I gave him a smug look. I liked that I could still have this effect on him. 

“I was wondering if I should… well…” This was harder than I’d thought. “You know. Retire.”

He frowned. “From inventing?”

“No, even if I’ve got nothing left but a broken spork and a rubber band, I’ll never give that up. I meant from being Iron Man.”

He put his glass down on the table, giving me a long, steady look. 

“Do you think you could do that?” he asked. I loved that he didn’t ask me why. I think he already knew the answers.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” I glanced at Donna again. “But I think I need to try. There’s plenty of other people who can take care of the world. _My_ world is right here.”

The struggle against R’Shendah had put things into perspective. Superheroes lived fast and died young. What they didn’t do was get old. While I wasn’t old, not by any stretch of the imagination, I wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. My reaction times, even augmented by the suit, were on the edge of compromise. And my judgement… well, I wouldn’t say I had baby brain, but if I kept putting myself on the line one day it wouldn’t just be me that got hurt. Watching Stephen recover from his injuries – comforting Donna through her nightmares… that was it. Time to call it a day. 

His hand closed over mine and squeezed. I squeezed back.

“Love ya, honey,” I croaked. 

He rolled his eyes. “I love you too, you big dope. Now come sit in Papa Bear’s lap so I can kiss you.”

Like I was going to argue with _that?_


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spanking. Because reasons.

We got to revisit the whole spanking thing. I’d forgotten all about it but Stephen, it seemed, had not. I thought I had imagination, but I’d learned early in our relationship that he was the real kinky bastard.

“What did you do with your copy of _Fifty Shades?_ ” he asked one night as we were getting ready for bed. He’d already used the bathroom and was changing into sleep clothes while I cleaned my teeth. My shirt was off – tossed in the vague direction of the laundry basket – and my zipper was undone. Stephen liked order and routine when he got ready for bed. My approach was a little more chaotic. 

“What?” I called, rinsing my mouth from the faucet. 

When I straightened, wiping my mouth on the towel, he was standing in the open doorway, reflected in the mirror. I won’t say my legs shook (and it would be totally justifiable if they did, the leg I’d smashed had never healed cleanly) but it was close – in nothing but black boxers, he was hot enough to set the doorframe on fire. The devilish look in those grey eyes told me I was in trouble. So, so much trouble. 

“That execrable book about bondage and unhealthy relationships,” he said.

“So execrable you read it, sure, OK.” I tossed the towel back toward the rack. He waved a hand – the towel folded mid-air and landed neatly on the railing.

“You read it, too.”

“For the _sex,_ come on.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not reading shit like that for the plot.”

“You kept it a secret from me.” Low fire simmered in his eyes. “We’d agreed we wouldn’t keep any more secrets. You need to be punished for that.”

That was stretching the bounds of our ‘let’s fix our relationship’ conversation just a little – especially as I’d let slip I’d read the book _before_ we’d had that talk – but I wasn’t going to complain. I licked my lips, noting the way he fixed on the movement. Oh, yeah. I totally needed to be punished.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been bad.” I gave him an impish grin. “Let’s get to the spanking part already.”

“You’re keen,” he said, arching one finely-shaped eyebrow. 

“I’m horny,” I said with a simple shrug. 

“Five years and I still haven’t taught you patience.” He stood aside. “Now get out here, Tony.”

“Yes, boss.” I gave him an ironic salute. When he was like this – domineering, in control – it ground against my need to act up, to test the boundaries. I fucking loved it. So did he.

He grabbed my arm as I drew level. As I turned and looked up at him, he kissed me, grabbing the back of my head in his free hand. His kiss was hard. Bruising. I gasped and tore away.

“Get out here,” he growled again. “Take your clothes off. Stand against the wall.”

“You didn’t say ‘please’.”

He kissed me again, arm sliding around my waist. His tongue eased between my lips, coaxing, teasing, driving me mad. His fingertips played over my ribcage, making me shiver, making my nipples harden. 

“Do as you’re told,” he murmured.

I was pretty much putty in his hands. Of course I was going to do what I was told. That didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him. I’d pay for that later, but right now I was having too much fun being a brat. 

I bit his lip, immediately swiping my tongue over the flesh to ease the sting. He grunted and jerked but didn’t pull away. He grabbed my wrists in both hands.

“Do I have to walk you to where I want you to stand?” He sounded strained. 

“Well hey, I’m just not sure what you want me to do…”

He grabbed the waist band of my pants with one hand and pushed me back. I stumbled a little, but his other hand on my bare shoulder kept me upright. We never broke eye contact as we emerged into the bedroom. We only stopped when my back thumped gently against the wall.

“One day,” he said, nuzzling his face against my neck, grazing his teeth over my skin and making me shiver violently, “we’re going to get you to obey a simple order.” The hand in my waistband moved, briefly cupping my crotch – feeling the shape of my erection – before moving away. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” I gasped again.

“You’d find out, if you didn’t fight me at every opportunity.”

His proximity was short-circuiting my internal sass network. His scent – his heat – the feel of his hand sliding across my chest – oh yeah, there went all logical thought.

“Not fighting you now,” I said.

He pulled his head back a little, gripping my chin with one hand. His thumb stroked over my cheek.

“What’s the safety word?”

“Banana.” We both watched _Family Guy._

“And when do you use it?”

“When I can’t find that vibrator you bought me, and you’re not here to give me –”

“The _safety word,_ you sexy idiot.”

“If you do something I don’t like.” The time for joking was over. “If it gets too much.”

“Good. Now for the love of God do as you’re told and take off your clothes.”

He stepped back, giving me space, watching with lazily lidded eyes as I stripped out of what was left of my clothes. I started with my socks, supporting myself with one hand against the wall as I peeled them off one at a time, wobbling a little as I put weight on my bum leg. I could see he wanted to steady me – the muscles in his shoulders twitched – but he held himself in check. I loved that he was there if it looked as if I really was going to fall over (that had happened once, when I’d grown frustrated with my healing progress and had tried to walk before I could, well, walk).

It was short work to wriggle my already open jeans down over my hips, then down to my ankles. I kicked them off. I was watching Stephen’s face; he was watching my junk. Grinning, I hooked my fingertips into the waistband of my Calvin Kleins, pushing them slowly down. The sensation of fabric sliding over my suddenly hyper-sensitive dick made me draw a ragged breath. 

Finally I was naked, my clothes pushed aside, forgotten. The look in Stephen’s eyes was enough to make me shiver all over again. Worshipful. Powerful. Controlling, yes, but I understand that I had just as much power in this situation as he did. 

“Turn around.” His voice was hoarse. “Brace your arms against the wall.”

It wasn’t lost on me – and I was sure as hell it wasn’t lost on him – that this was the position in which we’d first had sex. Fuelled by alcohol and the explosive release of repressed emotions, our first time had been hot as fuck, but it had lacked any kind of finesse and hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. Every single time since then was spent making up for that.

I raised my arms, bracing my forearms against the cool wall, curling my palms over my elbows. 

“Ass out.”

I let my forearms slide down a few inches, pressing my forehead against them. Ass out. Legs apart. Dick so hard it hurt. 

I expected him to just start swatting my ass – had even tensed the muscles in my thighs in anticipation – so when his hand curled around my cock instead, it was enough to make me jerk and let out a startled hiss. His palm was warm and lube-slick.

“Easy,” he murmured, setting his other hand against the nape of my neck. He stood close beside me, heat radiating from his body, but I was shivering even harder now. I felt the slow glide of his fingertips along my spine, tracing occasional whorls over my skin, each tracing accompanied by the equally slow pump of his fist over my cock. There was no pattern to his movements, no regularity, but each up-and-down made me twitch. This was slow, beautiful torture.

His hand finally reached the base of my spine. His fingertips lingered before moving lower, cupping one of my ass cheeks. Nothing as definite as a squeeze. I pushed back, seeking a firmer touch, and that was when he lifted his hand and brought his palm sharply down.

I jerked forward, letting out a low, startled sound that turned into a groan as my hips jerked, driving my cock through Stephen’s fist. I tried to fuck against that hot, slick circle of fingers but he chuckled and let go.

“Prick-tease,” I growled as he rubbed small circles over the part of my ass he’d just slapped. 

“I’m just getting started,” he said, and spanked me again on the other cheek. A little harder this time. I pressed my lips together. I wasn’t going to let him hear just how damned much this affected me.

His hand found my dick again. I had just enough self-control not to jerk against him, instead breathing low and steady as he stroked, the slick sound of his lubed palm echoing in my ears. 

Every time he spanked me I tried to fuck his hand. He’d pull away, rubbing my ass, easing the sting. Then he’d stroked my cock again. I kept my face pressed against my arms, legs trembling. The pleasure was growing in waves, more and more each time he touched me, and my dick was leaking like a faucet. This was more than edging. More than control. It was so intense I wanted to scream, and he was driving me higher, driving me toward the edge… and keeping me there, again and again and again. I’d been so determined not to let him hear me but I couldn’t stop the sounds tumbling out of my mouth. Every part of my skin felt super-sensitized, his every touch, every fleeting caress, making me tremble helplessly. 

When he eased one lube-slick finger inside my clenching hole, that was it – I lost it. I came harder than I ever had in my life, so hard the blood pounded in my ears, that the breath stopped in my throat. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak.

Finally – after what felt like forever – awareness trickled back: - I was shooting against the wall, come dripping over Stephen’s slick fingers, riding his hand as my body trembled and shook. He was pretty much just holding me up now, his arm around me, free hand splayed over my chest. I was groaning, feral, animalistic noises deep in the back of my throat, eventually giving way to soft, panting cries.

He held me as my trembling slowed and then stopped, gently turning me in the circle of his arms. I grabbed my underpants and used them to wipe his sticky hand, the wall, my belly…

“Jesus, I wasn’t thinking of redecorating in fifty shades of spunk,” I muttered. 

“Your body had other ideas.” He kissed my shoulder. “And I’m glad it did. The way you sound when you come…” He drew a long, slow breath. “I’m going to dream about that. You’re beautiful.”

I ducked my head, embarrassed, pleased, deeply in love. “You’re not so bad yourself. Speaking of which…” My fingers brushed over the tent in his boxers. 

“What do you think I should do about that?” There was a challenge in his eyes.

“Go take a cold shower?”

“You asshole.” He swooped in for another kiss.

“I prefer the term ‘douchebag’,” I said primly, referring to one of the first things he’d ever said to me. 

His rich chuckle made me shiver. I covered his mouth with mine, kissing the laugh, thrusting my tongue past his lips.

“Get on the bed,” I whispered. I’d blow him right here – just kneel, pull his boxers down – but my leg ached. 

Fingers twining in mine, he pulled me after him. He tugged the blanket aside and we flopped down onto the bed. I pushed his knees open and crawled up between them. Bracing myself with a hand on either side of his chest, I bent my head and kissed his breastbone. He shivered. I circled my tongue around one tiny pink nipple and then the other, eventually swiping over each hardened nub. Just once. Just enough to make him twitch and gasp. God, I loved teasing him like this, loved kissing and licking his skin. He was much paler than me.

Finally I eased his boxers down over his lean hips, pulling them down and off. His cock sprang up, smeared with pre-come, his balls already drawn up tight. It wouldn’t take much to make him come. The realisation brought a strong thrill – power, desire, lust – knowing that pleasuring me had brought him so close.

This wasn’t going to take long. But I was still going to take my time.

Ignoring his cock for now, I turned my attention to his ass, hooking my arms under his knees so that I could angle his hips up a little. I flicked my tongue over his hole. He shuddered. I liked that, so I did it again, keeping up a slow, relentless attack: - teasing his rim, drilling inside him, listening to his inarticulate sounds of pleasure. Could I make him come like this? We’d engaged in plenty of rimming before, but it was usually just a prelude to fucking. 

But he was so close. I could hear it in his increasingly frantic groans, in the way he tried to writhe. I kept him pinned down, occasionally glancing up at his dick. It twitched and jerked. I loved to see him like this – all his layers stripped away, all the armour he built around himself. It was just him, the man inside. _My_ man.

Finally it was my impatience that won out, not his. I wanted to hear him come, wanted to hear him falling apart beneath me. I closed my mouth over his cock, lips forming a hot, wet vacuum, taking him back as far as I could.

His groan turned into a startled yell. His hips tried to rise; I pushed them down, not wanting his cock any further down my throat than it already was, feeling the first spray of come in my mouth. I swallowed it down and kept swallowing. Backing off a little, I was just able to get my forefinger and thumb around the base of his shaft, milking out the last of his orgasm. God, he sounded amazing.

He stopped shooting, but I knew his orgasm hadn’t quite finished; not until his frantic moans had quieted down to rough breathing. I let his still half-hard dick slip out of my mouth, then kissed the sharp jut of his hip.

“Get up here,” he croaked.

I crawled up the bed, pulling the blanket over us as I went. He pulled me close, his arm around me, and I snuggled against his side. He was sweaty. I was sweaty. Zero fucks given. 

“I love you,” he said, turning to kiss me. It was a soft, sleepy kiss. He was exhausted. Wow. I’d worn him out. Maybe I should get him some more batteries. 

“That tongue’s just been inside your ass,” I murmured. “At least let me get some mouthwash or something.”

He laughed and kissed me again. “Shut up, Tony, and go to sleep.”

I grinned. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

THE END


End file.
